


My Fake Fiance

by teacuphuman



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur's Snark, Banter, Breakfast, Cohabitation, Desperate times call for desperate measures, Eames forging an appropriate attachment to Arthur, Eames' Charm, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Drama, Firsts, Fluff and Angst, Gambling, Gen, Happy Ending, Loan Sharks, Love Confessions, M/M, Pettiness, Resolved Sexual Tension, Saito forging an inappropriate attachment to a rug, Scamming Loved Ones, Schmoop, Sharing a Bed, Shower Sex, The things we do for fake love, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wedding Planning, Will they or wont they?, a child vomits, a healthy dose of angst, holiday fic remix, it's not graphic at all, they will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:27:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 27,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27820729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: Arthur needs to refurnish his life, Eames needs to repay a loan shark. If adversity makes strange bedfellows, what else is there to do but plan a sham wedding and fall in love along the way?
Relationships: Ariadne/Mal Cobb, Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 201
Kudos: 147





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's 2020 and we all need a distraction from this trash fire of a year, so this is my offering. I've had a blast writing this fic and can't wait for you all to read it! 
> 
> Updates daily with the occasional double chapter because it's going to come in at over 25 chapters and history has shown that if I don't finish posting by Christmas day, I won't finish it for three years. Shrug.
> 
> Enjoy!

Arthur stares at the seating chart and silently curses Ariadne. He heads to the open bar and orders two drinks, downing a flute of champagne from a passing server before dragging his drinks and his feet to the table he’s destined to spend the next three hours at, bored out of his mind. Had he known declining to be in the wedding party would relegate him to the singles table, he’d have hired someone to be his plus one.

There’s only one other person at the table, leering at him from the chair next to the one labelled ‘Arthur Darling’ in Leisha script on a peach-hued card. Arthur frowns and drops into his seat with a sigh.

“You should be more gentle,” the man says in a somewhat mumbled British accent. “An arse like that deserves to be taken care of.”

Arthur turns to look at him and he’s six inches closer than Arthur is comfortable with, so he pointedly scoots his chair away. “My  _ arse _ is fine.”

“It is indeed,” the man grins, giving Arthur a slow once-over.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this was the  _ desperate _ and single table,” Arthur sneers, taking a deep drink of his gimlet. 

“And yet here you are,” he says, grabbing Arthur’s second drink and taking a sip, grimacing at the taste. “Tart.”

“You certainly seem to be,” he muses, turning away.

Other guests trickle into the reception and the rest of the chairs at the table soon fill with people he doesn’t care to know, all cheerfully introducing themselves. When a woman in what appears to be a Victorian mourning dress, complete with lace veil, asks his name, the man, Eames, according to his name card, leans close and throws his arm around him.

“Arthur Darling, say hello to Edith Crown,” he coos, shaking Arthur lightly.

Arthur grits his teeth and raises his glass to her. “Nice broach,” he says, catching sight of the embroidered flower pin on her shawl.

“Thank you, it’s human hair,” she preens.

“Of course it is,” he mutters and shakes off Eames’ arm to get another drink.

He runs into one of the brides before he reaches the bar, and Ari hugs him tightly, an enormous smile on her face. “Isn’t this the best day? This is the best day, Arthur!”

He smiles despite his eternal annoyance, because she looks lit from within. “The very best.”

“Doesn’t Mal look stunning? She’s like an angel,” Ari continues, her eyes cutting across the room to her new wife. 

“You both look amazing, I’m so happy for you,” he tells her sincerely. He may be a miserly grouch most of the time, but Arthur still cares about his friends.

“Did you find your table okay?” Ari asks, eyebrows high. “Meet anyone interesting there?”

Arthur narrows his eyes at her. “Did you do that on purpose? That Eames guy? He’s insufferable!”

“Me thinks the lady doth protest too much,” Ari giggles, booping Arthur on the nose. “He’s a friend of Mal’s. She thought you two would hit it off.”

“I want to hit him, alright,” Arthur mumbles. “I’m not looking for anything right now. Besides, meeting a guy at a wedding puts way too much pressure on a relationship.”

Ari laughs. “Who said anything about a relationship? We’re just trying to get you laid!”

“Charming,” Ari’s mother grouses from behind her. “It’s time for toasts, are you sober enough to sit quietly and be praised?”

“I guess we’re gonna find out!” Ari skips away and her mother rolls her eyes at Arthur, but there’s a smile on her lips as she follows her daughter.

Arthur has a drink at the bar and orders another, returning to the table in time for Mal’s dad to take the mike. He places a glass in front of Eames with a saccharine smile and relaxes into his chair.

“What’s this, Darling?” Eames asks, surprised, but taking a sip.

“Shirley Temple; thought it would match your maturity level.”

Eames leers. “Thinking about me, were you?”

Arthur sputters. “That’s not what I—”

Edith shushes them from the other side of Eames.

“Yeah, shhh!” Eames winks, chasing his drink straw around with his tongue. Arthur can’t help but stare because now that Ari’s put the idea in his head, he can’t deny that Eames is kinda hot. In a brutish, undisciplined, chavish way.

Eames catches him staring, grunting in pleasure and grinning while Arthur’s face flames and he turns away to listen to the speeches. One after another, people get up to tell stories about Ari and Mal; how they met, the ways their love inspires people, and Arthur admits to himself, after another flute of free champagne, that he wouldn’t mind if one day someone said those things about his relationship. Maybe he should lower his standards a little and open himself up. 

“How much do you think they’re gonna clear between cash and gifts today?” Eames whispers in his ear, killing all thoughts of dating down.

Arthur waves him off, annoyed. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious. That’s the third envelope of cash handed to them during the speeches. I saw Mal handle at least two more while mingling, and the gift table is so loaded it’s groaning.”

Eames’ breath is warm on his neck, but Arthur maintains perfect posture and doesn’t give into the instinct to lean into him. 

“People spend a fortune on gifts for weddings, not to mention engagement showers and bachelor-bachelorette parties, but the idea is that you get it back when it’s your turn,” Arthur explains quietly.

“What if you don’t get your turn?” Eames asks, and it prompts Arthur to turn and glare at him. “Well, you’re no spring chick, Darling. What if you’ve missed your window?”

“I have missed nothing,” Arthur snaps, ready to defend his life choices.

“Can I use your phone?” Eames asks, throwing the conversation out the window.

Arthur flounders. “Can you—what?” 

“Your phone,” Eames repeats. “Mine’s dead and I need to make a call.”

Arthur’s about to say no, but it’s already in Eames’ hand and he’s unlocked it and dialed before Arthur remembers it was in his jacket’s inner pocket.

“How did you…”

“One moment, Darling,” Eames winks again, leaning away to speak to whoever picks up on the other side. The speeches are over and food is circulating, and Arthur feels like he’s lost the plot of the day.

“I need to speak to Saito,” Eames says into the phone, his voice deeper and rougher than before. “Yes, I know, but I have to speak to him. He’s going to want to hear this, trust me.”

Arthur frowns into his empty glass. He wants another, but there’s no way he’s leaving Eames alone with his phone. He tries to signal a server, but they’re all busy handing out plates of chicken and fish. He should have ordered the fish. It’s salmon, and he loves salmon. He realizes he may be a little drunk when he swipes the rest of Eames’ Shirley Temple and drinks it down.

“Rude,” Eames scoffs at the phone, ending the call and gently opening Arthur’s jacket to slip it back into the breast pocket.

Arthur frowns at Eames’ lazy smile, wondering just how much he’ll hate himself if he drags the man into the bathroom to fool around. It’s what Ari and Mal want, after all. Who is he to deny them their wish on this blessed day?

“Hey,” he breathes, smacking the table a little too hard to get Eames’ attention. “Hey, you.”

Don’t Fear the Reaper plays and Eames pulls his phone out of his pant pocket, checking the screen. “Sorry, Darling, got to talk to a man about a horse.” He stands and walks away, leaving Arthur behind, mouth open and anger rising. Eames doesn’t return.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two short chapters to show just what our intrepid characters are dealing with.

Dom nearly trips walking back to the truck, catching himself, and the box he’s carrying, at the last second. It’s the third time he’s done it and Arthur wants to make him wait on the curb, but then Dom will pout and Arthur doesn’t have time to coddle someone else’s feelings today.

“I can’t believe you’re moving,” Dom says, sliding the box into the back of the truck Arthur rented. “You’ve been here so long.”

“Six years, four roommates, and three boyfriends,” Arthur says, adding his box to the pile.

“How much more is your mortgage than what you were paying for rent?”

“I thought it was rude to talk about money,” Arthur says, stretching his back. It’s been a long day of packing his entire life into the truck, and they still have to unpack it when they get to his new condo. “Let’s just say I’m talking myself out of having second thoughts.”

“What’s there to worry about? I mean, you have a good-paying job and no student loans. As long as another recession doesn’t hit, you’ll be fine.”

Arthur groans. “Don’t jinx me!”

“Look, if the worst happens, you can always sleep on my couch.”

“You don’t have a couch, you have a futon. And you still live in the same two-hundred and fifty square foot studio you did in college,” Arthur reminds him.

“You don’t have to tell me how good I have it,” Dom jokes, slapping Arthur’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s say goodbye to the old place and get moving.”

Arthur wanders through the house one last time. It’s a simple split level that looks a lot like every other house on the block, but he has a lot of memories here. Late night study sessions, Halloween parties, and late night study sessions and Halloween parties that lead to having sex on pretty much every flat surface in the place. Yep, good memories. He closes the front door, sliding the keys through the mail slot and not looking back. 

Dom is standing on the sidewalk, looking up and down the street, the last box at his feet. The truck is nowhere in sight.

“Dom,” he starts, dread pooling in his gut.

“It was right here,” Dom says, a frayed layer to his every-calm voice. “We were only gone for a minute, I thought it would be fine with the keys in the ignition.”

“You left the keys in it?” Arthur shouts.

“Arthur, I’m so sorry! We’ll get it back, I swear.”

Arthur slides to the ground beside his box, hastily ripping off the tape while praying his coffee maker is inside. Dom makes a choked noise when Arthur pulls out three throw pillows and a sparkly green dildo.

“At least you won’t get bored at your new place,” Dom jokes weakly.

Arthur glares up at him. “Dominic Cobb, you are no longer my token straight friend.”


	3. Chapter 3

Eames has just settled into the assgrove of his beat up leather couch to watch the game when his front door slams open and two men dressed head to toe in black storm in. Eames would like to say he has no idea who they are or why they’re here, but he makes it a rule not to lie to himself.

“Didn’t your mum teach you to knock?” he demands, jumping to his feet and moving to keep the couch between him and his visitors.

Yusef smiles that charming smile of his. “Didn’t yours teach you to pay your debts?” 

“I always pay my debts,” Eames argues, insulted.

“Not on time you don’t,” Nash sneers. “Saito wants his money.”

“I know, and I spoke to him about this last weekend. I just need a little more time,” Eames pleads.

“He wasn’t happy about that phone call,” Yusef tells him. “Phoning him on his private line during family time? Tisk, tisk, Eames.”

Eames tosses his head. “He stopped taking calls from my number.”

“Because he didn’t want to hear your excuses,” Nash counters.

“They weren’t excuses!”

Yusef puts up his hands to quiet the bickering. “You want more time, you know the cost, Eames.”

Eames’ shoulders slump and he nods in defeat. “Let’s be gentlemen about this, yeah? Not the face.”

“But that’s my favourite part of you,” Nash says with fake sweetness.

Fifteen minutes and two broken ribs later, Yusef and Nash leave, a six-pack of beer and Eames’ tv remote as collateral.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late posting today!

Arthur has a list. Well, technically he has six lists, but he’s compiled them into one list for what needs to get done today. They still haven’t found the truck and his belongings, but some things can’t wait. Like a new toothbrush. And a coffee maker. And something better to sleep on than the floor.

He wonders if there’s such a thing as a home-in-a-box for people in his position. Or students. Or people getting out of prison. He sighs, because outside of his gorgeous condo, his life sucks. It mostly sucks inside the condo as well because he doesn’t even have a chair to sit in. He’s told no one yet, and he swore Dom to secrecy because the last thing he needs is his parents finding out and giving him  _ the look _ . The one that says ‘we gave you all the tools to succeed and still you disappoint us’. Arthur knows it well. 

“Hi there, can I help you with anything?” a cheerful woman asks, hovering over his shoulder. 

“Oh, um, I’m just scoping out some items on my list,” he explains, waving the list and not actually wanting any help.

To his dismay, she plucks it right out of his hands, her eyes scanning it quickly and lighting up. “Oh! This is the best part, I promise!”

Arthur’s about to ask what she’s talking about, but then she hands him a scanning gun and a pamphlet about selecting items for a registry.

“Just point, shoot, and when you’re done, we’ll link it to your account! I can even print you off a copy to keep track,” she tells him. “And you’re alone today so you get to make all the decisions.” She winks and walks away.

He could correct her, he should correct her. But then he scans a porcelain chef’s knife and finds it kind of addictive. Soon he’s not only scanning what he needs, but what he wants. A new set of copper-bottomed pots, Egyptian cotton sheets, a chandelier he knows would look amazing in his dining room, and speaking of dining rooms, he should really get a new table and chairs, something that matches the style of his new home and doesn’t come from a secondhand store. Those things were fine when he was renting, but Arthur’s a  _ homeowner _ now. His status has risen and his home should reflect that. He knows he’s being ridiculous, but it’s nice to pretend for a little while. And if the saleswoman thinks there’s someone Arthur’s going to share these things with, who is he to shatter the illusion?

It’s a little harder to hold on to the fantasy when the list is printed out and he gets a look at what his perfect life would cost. Even if he sticks to the necessities, he can’t afford it. Not with his mortgage payments. He’s pulled from his prayer for the truck and his belongings to be found by the saleswoman handing him his account information.

“It’s a bit much to see it all together like that,” she says, clearly having noticed his panic. “But don’t worry about the price, people love to out-spend each other with expensive wedding gifts.”

Arthur tilts his head, struck by genius at the woman’s words. He thanks her and hurries out of the store, the list clenched in his hand. Once he’s outside, he scrolls through his outgoing calls and redials the number he’s looking for. 

“Hi, I need to speak to Mr. Saito,” he tells the man who answers. “It’s about Eames.”


	5. Chapter 5

Eames is smug when he shows up to lunch, just like Arthur knew he would be, and a small part of him is going to relish popping his bubble. Okay, a big part of him. He can’t help it, Eames just has one of those faces you can’t help but want to punch.

“It surprised me you called, didn’t think you liked me,” Eames says, swinging his leg over the back of the chair in what Arthur assumes is a show of machismo before sitting down.

“I don’t,” Arthur assures him with a smile. “But I think we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement.”

Eames hums like he’s interested, checking Arthur out slowly. “Just don’t go falling in love with me, Darling.”

“I’ll do my best to restrain myself,” Arthur says with an eye roll. “Look, here’s the situation. The truck carrying all my worldly belongings was stolen and while the insurance covers the truck, it doesn’t cover the contents.”

“You want me to find your truck?” Eames asks, puzzled.

“No, shut up and listen. Remember at the wedding when you asked me how much I thought Ari and Mal were going to clear between cash and gifts?”

Understanding dawns on Eames’ face. “I’m in.”

“What? I haven’t even finished explaining my idea,” Arthur argues.

“No, I follow; we stage a wedding. You keep the gifts, I take the cash,” Eames says, and Arthur can practically hear his mind working.

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Or,” Eames continues excitedly. “We liquefy the gifts and I triple our money at the track. I know a guy who works with the horses and he—”

“I’m out,” Arthur declares, standing up to leave.

Eames grabs his wrist. “What? Why?”

“Because you’re clearly a gambling addict and I’m not going to enable you. Nor will I sacrifice my half of the profits to feed your habit,” Arthur says, trying to free himself, but Eames won’t let go. Instead, he drops to one knee, grinning mischievously.

“Arthur Darling,” he says loudly, squeezing Arthur’s wrist until he stops squirming. “Will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?”

There are a few gasps and whispers, and everyone is staring, and Arthur hates, hates,  _ hates _ , being put on display.

“What are you doing?” he hisses.

“You control one hundred percent of the profits until the agreed upon termination date,” Eames tells him quietly, his eyes alight. “The gifts, the money, everything. Then we split it and go our separate ways.”

The surrounding whispers get louder and Arthur knows it’s now or never. “Yes! Yes, of course I’ll marry you!” he gushes, nearly falling over backward when Eames jumps to his feet and kisses him while the rest of the restaurant cheers.

“How long do we have to stay married?” Eames asks while they share the complimentary dessert and champagne the host brought over. Every time Arthur looks up he catches another misty-eyed diner watching them, so he keeps his focus solely on Eames, trying to look happy instead of annoyed.

“We’re not actually getting married, you understand that, right?” he asks.

“If we don’t we’re obligated to return all the gifts,” Eames says through a mouthful of tiramisu.

Arthur frowns and pulls out his phone, searching the internet for an answer and finding Eames is right. “How did you know that?”

Eames snorts. “I’m British, that’s enough to qualify me on the subject of etiquette.”

“Jesus, do you need a Green Card?” Arthur hisses across the table. “Is that why you’re agreeing to this?”

“I was born here, thank you very much,” Eames tells him. “American father, British mother. Grew up across the pond.”

Arthur’s phone rings, saving him from having to apologize. “Hello?”

“Is this ah darling?” A man asks, butchering his name.

“This is  _ A _ . Darling, yes.” Arthur rolls his eyes at Eames, who is scraping every last bit of cake from the plate with his fork.

“Oh, right. This is Officer Waldon, you need to come down to 82th and Long. We found your truck.”

“Oh my god, yes! I’ll be right there! Right away!” He’s already on his feet when he ends the call, completely forgetting about Eames until the man trails him out of the restaurant, thanking the staff for making their engagement even more memorable and alluding to why Arthur’s in such a hurry to leave. He has the car in reverse when Eames opens the passenger door and climbs in.

“Where are we going?” he asks, rubbing his hands together.

Arthur stares at him. “I’m going to get my stuff. They found the truck.”

“Excellent!” Eames cries with a smile. “That sounds like something your fiance should be there for.”

“Eames, we’re not really engaged,” he reminds him.

Eames looks at him like he thinks Arthur is adorable. “But we are, Darling. Because we’re going to get married and before we do that, we are engaged. Do you remember when I got down on one knee back there?”

“Whatever, I don’t have time to throw you out of the car. Not when there’s a chance I could sleep in an actual bed tonight and not on the floor.”

“I hope it’s a king,” Eames tells him seriously. “I like to spread out.”

Arthur ignores him and focuses on driving, worried he’ll push Eames out of the moving vehicle if he doesn’t. He doesn’t even shut off the car when they arrive, just puts it in park and jumps out, ignoring Officer Waldon and throwing open the back door.

“I tried to tell you on the phone, but you hung up,” Officer Waldon tells him as Arthur stares at the empty cargo area. Only, it’s not completely empty, he realizes, squinting into the darkness. 

He scrambles into the back, chanting, ‘Please be the coffee maker’ under his breath. He rips open the box, his heart leaping and then plummeting when pulls out a pair of red satin panties and a riding crop.

“So,” Eames says, leaning over his shoulder. “You fancy a band or a DJ? Either way, I know a guy.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the cohabitation begin!

“How do we throw a wedding when we’re both skint?” Eames asks later, sitting side by side with Arthur on the floor of the empty living room. They’re passing a cheap bottle of red wine between them because they couldn’t afford tequila.

Arthur wrinkles his nose in confusion. “Skint?”

“Broke. Penniless. Beggard. Strapped.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it now,” Arthur grumbles, stealing the bottle back. “It’s easy, we just plan the wedding, then claim we’re overwhelmed by it all and elope. That way we just have to convince people we’re in love and we’re in the clear.”

“That’s the easy way?” Eames asks, skeptical.

Arthur takes a swig of wine, rolling his eyes. “What sounds hard about it?”

And then Eames is in his space, breath warm and thick with wine, pressing their lips together in a firm kiss. Arthur pulls back and slaps him across the face, his surprise turning to anger when Eames laughs.

“You’re right, pet, we’re obviously madly in love.” Eames sighs and grabs the bottle, drinking deeply.

“Maybe this won’t work,” Arthur frets, his lips still tingling from the stubble around Eames’ mouth.

“With the right story, it’ll work, don’t worry,” Eames assures him, leaning his head against the wall. “We just need to get the giant stick out of your backside.” 

“I thought you liked my backside,” Arthur says, sounding much more petulant than he intended.

Eames chuckles, rolling his head to the side to look at Arthur. “You’re a lot of work, aren’t you?”

“Am not,” Arthur snaps, draining the rest of the bottle.

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Eames tells him, watching him swallow. “We need to spend more time together. Get used to each other’s company. Besides, I can’t go back to mine right now.”

Arthur snorts inelegantly. “Goons waiting to break your legs for non-payment?”

“Something like that,” Eames says, shifting uncomfortably.

“Well, you’re not staying here,” he informs Eames.

“You want to have to wheel me up the aisle?” Eames raises his eyebrows, like he’s daring Arthur to say yes.

“Ugh, fine. One night,” Arthur concedes, too tired to argue like he wants to. “But you’re sleeping out here and when I leave for work, you leave for good.”

Eames looks around the empty apartment. “Afraid I’ll steal something if you leave me alone?”

Arthur kicks at him on his way to the master bedroom to get ready for bed. His nest of pillows and blankets is pathetic, but at least he has something to protect him from the hard floor. He grabs one of the throw pillows and stomps back into the living room in his pajama pants, a small thrill going through him when Eames’ mouth falls open and his eyes roam over Arthur's slim, but toned bare chest. He tosses the pillow at Eames’ head, smirking when it hits him square in the face, and if he struts a little on his way back across the room for Eames’ benefit, he’ll never admit it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There wasn't even ONE BED!!!!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames outsources romance.

Eames wakes with his ribs on fire, a crick in his neck, and a deep ache in his right hip. He fell asleep propped in the corner of the room, the lone pillow beside him instead of behind his head where he’d wedged it. The flat is chilly, but he can’t find the thermostat and Arthur seems to have left for work, despite his vow to kick Eames out at first light. 

His entire body protests when he climbs to his feet, and he decides Arthur won’t murder him for taking a hot shower if he doesn’t find out. He strips down in the middle of the living room, tossing his clothes in the washer/dryer combo hidden in the cupboard behind the kitchen. There’s only one towel in the bathroom, still damp from Arthur’s use, but it will have to do until his clothes are dry. He needs to figure out how to get the necessities from his place without being spotted, and talk Arthur into letting him stay until the cash flows in. 

He uses Arthur’s products in the shower, surprised they’re not all expensive brands, and lingers to appreciate the water pressure and deep tissue setting on the shower head. He can admit his flat is a hovel next to Arthur’s, even if his place has furniture, and he congratulates himself for marrying up. He shakes the thought away and turns off the water. He’s supposed to fool others into believing he and Arthur are a couple, not himself.

Eames barely has the towel wrapped around his waist when someone rings the doorbell. He hurries out of the bathroom, not realizing he should pretend no one is home until he’s opened the door to find Ari on the other side, eyes gone wide with surprise.

“I knew it!” she cries, shoving past him into the flat. “Arthur kept saying how terrible you are, but I knew you were the kind of terrible he likes. Where is he?”

“Ah, work?” Eames stutters, trying to suss out if Ari surprising him can be used to his advantage.

“So?” Ari stares at him expectantly.

“So... what?” Eames asks, readjusting the towel.

Ari smirks at the movement and folds her arms across her chest. “So is this something serious or a no-strings-attached kind of romp?”

“Um,”

“Because you’re alone in his place, and Arthur doesn’t allow that for just anyone, so it must be serious, right? Oh my god, Mal is going to freak out!” 

And then it clicks. Why do the work themselves when Ari can do it for them?

Eames dips his head, letting a bashful smile break over his face. “It’s new, but definitely more than a romp,” he looks up at Ari from under his lashes. “We’re engaged.”

Ari screams. “I’m so happy for you guys! Arthur deserves to find love, you know? He’s so sensitive and caring, and I knew it was only a matter of time before someone great saw the real him.”

Sensitive? Caring? Arthur? Eames covers his surprise and plays along as best he can. “I just want to make him happy.”

Ari squeals, throwing her arms around Eames, apparently not bothered by his lack of clothing.

“I can’t wait to tell Mal,” she gushes. “Oh my god, Mal! I left her at our place with all the luggage. Oops. You know we’re just around the corner, right? We should do drinks. Dinner. Brunch, whatever, something to celebrate! We can show you all the pictures from our honeymoon and you guys can tell us how awesome we are for getting you together!”

Eames can’t help but laugh, nodding along as he herds her to the door. “Sounds great, let us know when you’re all settled back in.”

He waves at Ari until she disappears into the elevator, then shuts the door, happy to let her tell the world about his and Arthur’s new romance.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Saito will see you now.

Arthur comes home from work with some fancy coffee maker he bought off a colleague who didn’t know how to use it and Eames uses his good mood to barter for his continued existence in Arthur’s flat. He admires that Arthur drives a hard bargain, but now he’s stuck doing all the housework and outfitting the place with furniture before their parents find out they’re shacking up.

He’s fighting with the puzzle that is the raccoon-proof compost bin in front of the building when a dark SUV pulls up with a screech of brakes and he’s manhandled inside. Nash at least makes sure the bag goes into the bin, smirking at Eames when he gets it open on the first try, before they speed off.

They take him to Saito’s store; a large two-story warehouse with showroom after showroom of overpriced furniture. The man himself is waiting for them in one of displays, draped across an ostentatious gold and pink chaise shaped like a swan, a thick taupe rug in his lap that he pets like a cat. There are people mingling around the place, looking at furniture, but Saito and his goons pay them no mind.

“Ah, Mr. Eames,” Saito greets him, his dark eyes and calm demeanor giving nothing away. “You thought you could hide from me.”

“Hide? You thought I was, no,” Eames laughs to hide how nervous he is. “No, I wasn’t hiding, I moved in with my fiance. I’m getting married!”

“Forgive me if I find that hard to believe,” Saito says evenly. “For I know you to be what you might call a ‘slag’.”

“I prefer a rake, but I take your point,” he admits with a nod of his head. “But that was before I met Arthur. Now there’s only one port for this ship, I swear it. Speaking of Arthur, if I don’t return soon he  _ will _ call the police.” Eames leans forward like he’s sharing a secret. “He’s a worrier.”

“It’s true, I am,” Arthur announces, stepping around Yusef and Nash to stand beside Eames. “Especially knowing what I do about Eames’ little habit.”

Eames doesn’t even try to hide his surprise. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Arthur looks at him like he’s a disappointment. “Eamesy, I told you, we’re in this together, but that only works if you tell me the truth.”

Eames gapes, unable to process that Arthur’s thrown himself between Eames and the most powerful loan shark in the state like Eames is actually worth the risk.

“Mr. Saito, please let me apologize for my fiance’s disrespect. He told me he was square with you and done with gambling. He’s even been going to Gamblers Anonymous meetings,” Arthur pauses to take a shaky breath. “I thought we were past all this.”

To Eames’ surprise, Saito sits up and takes Arthur’s hand, guiding him forward until they’re perched side by side on the hideous sofa. “You poor dear, you must be crushed.”

Arthur sighs dramatically. “When I fell in love with him, I knew I had to take the good with the bad,” he looks up at Eames with tears in his eyes. “I just wish he trusted me enough to tell me the truth.”

“Arthur—”

“Be quiet, Eames, the adults are talking,” Arthur snaps, glaring him into submission.

Saito chuckles, looking between them. “I think you’re exactly the man Mr. Eames needs to bring him in line. If you’re smart, Eames, you won’t let him go.”

Arthur snorts. “I’ll have to hold on for both of us, then.” He and Saito share an amused look, and Eames knows for sure that no good will come of the two of them being acquainted.

“I trust that you will see that Mr. Eames pays his debt to me, post haste,” Saito says, serious once more.

“Absolutely,” Arthur gushes, standing to take Eames’ arm. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have dinner with my parents to get to.”

“One month,” Saito tells them, laying back and taking up his rug petting once more.

“Pardon?” Arthur responds, stilling.

“You have one month to get married and pay me back,” he says with a knowing smile. “I’m sentimental, not stupid. If it is true love, like you say, the quicker the better, no?”

“Of course,” Arthur agrees weakly, turning imploring eyes to Eames.

“How can we turn down such a generous offer, Darling?” he says, praying Arthur won’t abandon him after all.

“And the sweetness clause will apply, of course,” Saito adds.

Eames grits his teeth. “Of course.”

“And I’ll also need an invitation, plus two, for my boys.”

“You, you’re coming to the wedding?” Arthur asks, fingers digging into Eames’ arm.

“Certainly,” Saito smiles. “I adore weddings. Now, why don’t we seal our arrangement with a kiss?”

Eames is confused, but stumbles forward, no way he’s going to let Arthur do it, but Saito rolls his eyes. 

“You two, Mr. Eames. A kiss between you and your intended.”

“Yeah, let’s see the passion that’s made you a changed man,” Nash teases.

Yusef nods wisely. “Can tell a lot about a relationship with a kiss.”

Saito raises his eyebrows, looking at them expectantly, so Eames turns to Arthur and cups his jaw. Arthur’s eyes are wide and worried, but Eames tries to reassure him with a small smile before tilting his head to the side and kissing him. Arthur’s hands grip Eames’ elbows and he nips his bottom lip, pressing his tongue inside when Eames gasps in response. From there it’s all Eames can do to hang on as Arthur takes him apart with the heat, and the depth, and the strength of the kiss. Arthur kisses him like he hasn’t seen him in years; like it’s all he’s ever wanted and the last thing he’ll ever do. Arthur kisses like it’s real. And then it’s over and Arthur pulls away, leaving Eames to gasp like a fish, bereft. 

“We really can’t be late meeting my parents,” Arthur tells them, and drags Eames out of the store.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eames learns there are consequences to his pants-less actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters today!

“One month. One month, Eames!” Arthur shouts as soon as the door to the condo is closed behind them. The drive home was tense, with Arthur glaring Eames into submission every time he tried to speak. Arthur needed the quiet to organize his thoughts. To plan their next move. To think of a good place to bury Eames’ body.

“I’m not sure how many times I can say I’m sorry,” Eames tells him, falling into one of the pair of stools he found on a curbside.

“Even once would be nice, since you haven’t actually said it yet,” Arthur informs him, standing with his hands shoved deep in his pockets so he doesn’t throttle his betrothed.

“I. AM. SORRY,” Eames says, loud and slow, about three inches from Arthur’s face. “I know a month isn’t a lot of time, but hey, at least no one will think we’re rushing because you’re pregnant.”

“No, just dying, or something equally terrible,” Arthur quips, walking around Eames and the kitchen island to grab a bottle of wine from the fridge. It’s not like there’s much to choose from, after all. He tasked Eames with getting groceries and he came home with beer, hot cross buns, and a handful of scratch tickets. 

“No one is going to think you’re dying,” Eames argues just as Arthur’s phone beeps. He ignores it when he sees it’s a text from his mother, not in the mood to listen to her complain about whatever she thinks he’s done to embarrass her now.

“Hold on,” he says, scrolling through his texts and then his call log. “Why do I have like, thirty texts from people and twelve missed phone calls from my mom and my sister?”

“Am I your social secretary too, now?” Eames grumbles, getting up to fetch his own beer.

Arthur opens up a text from his sister and almost falls to the floor. “How?”

“Eh?” Eames asks, head still in the fridge.

“Eames? Eames! How does everyone I know know about us? We haven’t told anyone yet!” he demands, his phone ringing again, his mother’s face flashing on the screen.

“Oh, right. About that…” Eames says, backing up until the island is between them again. “The lovely Ariadne may have discovered me here this morning in nothing but a towel.”

Arthur doesn’t shout. He doesn’t scream, or yell, or throw the bottle of wine at Eames’ head. He deserves a medal, truly. He does, however, shut off his phone and take a very long drink of wine, straight from the bottle. It’s not like they have glasses to pour it into.

“How did she do that, Eames?” he asks, once he’s regained his composure.

“Well… I let her in.”

Arthur laughs, because what else is he going to do? He keeps making plans and laying the groundwork for this scheme to work and as soon as his back is turned, Eames tosses it all into the air, just to see where it will land.

“So by now Ari and Mal have told everyone we know that we’re engaged,” Arthur surmises.

Eames nods, knocking the top off his bottle with the edge of the granite counter. “It would seem so.”

Arthur gives him a dark look and Eames rubs the counter in apology.

“You think your parents will like me?” he asks, hopefully.

Arthur chokes on his wine. “No way. They’re going to  _ loathe _ you, which might be one of the only things that keeps me sane through this. But they’re also going to think I’m crazy, so it’ll be fun for everyone!”

“You sure? I’m very charming,” he preens.

“I got news for you, babe,” Arthur says, leaning across the counter. “You’re not even half as charming as you think you are.”

Eames is taken aback and clearly offended, but his phone starts to ring before he can get a word out. “Hello? Oh. Oh! Yes, this is he.”

Arthur waits as Eames listens to the person on the phone, his smile getting wider as he stares at Arthur.

“Well, you know how he is,” Eames says, laughing at the response. “Of course, we’d love to! Can we bring anything? Just ourselves? How sweet. I’m looking forward to it as well. Ta for now, Caroline.”

Arthur’s blood runs cold. There’s no way. No fucking way. “Tell me that wasn’t my mother.”

“Afraid I can’t do that, sugarplum,” Eames grins, placing his phone carefully back on the counter. “When she couldn’t get ahold of you, she asked Ari and Mal for my number. Wants us over for dinner tomorrow night, six pm, sharp. She’s very disappointed she had to hear about your engagement from elsewhere, Arthur.  _ Very disappointed _ .”

Arthur shakes his head, almost feeling pity for Eames because he’s had a lifetime to get used to his parents. He’s practically immune to his father’s distance and his mother’s acerbity, but Eames. Eames is about to enter the fifth ring of hell and has no idea.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweet Caroline... not. Eames meets the parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meeting Arthur's parents is a three chapter rollercoaster, so buckle up! 
> 
> NB: Arthur's parents are as awful as I usually write them. It boils down to them being selfish people who don't understand their out-of-the-box child.

Arthur’s mother is in the front yard when they pull up, pretending to trim the hibiscus. Her mouth thins when Arthur parks on the street instead of in the driveway, but soon she’s distracted by Eames jumping out of the car to hurry around and open Arthur’s door for him.

“Mum!” Eames cries, waving. “Arthur’s Mum!”

Arthur’s father appears on the porch, looking startled by the man shouting in his front yard.

“Mom, Dad, this is Eames,” Arthur supplies, hitting the lock button on the car so it honks. 

His father frowns at the car. “The street, Arthur. Really?”

Arthur shrugs. “Guests park on the street, we’re your guests.”

“This will always be your home,” his mother tells him, leading them into the house.

“Why did that sound like a threat?” Eames whispers, his hand on Arthur’s lower back as they follow.

Arthur laughs darkly. “Because it was.”

The inside of the house is spotless and tasteful, as always, and it feels just as unfriendly and alien to him as it always has. Like it’s all a thin veneer, hiding the cracks in the foundation of his family.

“Well, Eames, it’s nice to  _ finally _ meet you,” Arthur’s father says, giving Eames a once over.

“And you, sir,” Eames says with a grin. “Arthur’s told me absolutely nothing about you.”

To Arthur’s surprise, his dad chuckles.

“That tracks. Arthur likes to keep us a secret so we don’t scare off potential suitors. And call me Bob, son.”

_ Son? _ Arthur mouths to himself. His dad doesn’t even call him that! He squints at his parents, trying to figure out what their angle is, but they just smile politely and laugh at Eames’ terrible jokes. His mother lets Eames call her Caroline, tittering when Eames sings a few bars of Sweet Caroline and kisses the back of her hand. Arthur needs a drink.

“Is that the sweater I bought you?” his mother asks, picking at something on his sleeve.

“Yeah,” he confirms, hating that it matters she noticed.

“Hmm, some things just look better on the hanger, don’t they?”

Arthur bites his tongue, cursing himself for leaving himself open to criticism yet again. The evening was going to be enough of a nightmare. He should have gone full rebel and worn something he already knew she’d hate.

“I have to agree,” Eames chimes in, sliding an arm around Arthur’s waist and nuzzling his temple. “Arthur looks best when  _ all _ his clothes are on hangers.”

Arthur’s jaw drops, but his parents laugh.  _ Laugh _ . At Eames telling them he likes Arthur naked. He’s definitely in the Twilight Zone now.

“Come through for a drink. You’re early and dinner isn’t quite ready,” his mother says, taking Arthur’s arm and dragging him further into the house.

“So,” Bob starts as soon as they all have drinks. “Tell us the truth, Arthur. Are you ill?”

Arthur gives Eames a pointed look and Eames sighs, digging a twenty out of his wallet and handing it over.

“I guess that’s our answer,” Caroline says.

“Does Eames need a Green Card?” Bob asks, looking at Eames like it wouldn’t be a deal breaker.

“No, god, is it so hard to believe I’ve actually found someone who wants to marry me because of me?” he demands, ignoring the irony.

His father raises his hands. “Calm down, Arthur, we have a duty to ask these questions, you know.”

“And I don’t see either of you wearing a ring, so can you blame us for being suspicious?” Caroline adds.

“They’re at the engravers,” Eames explains from where he’s standing behind the couch Arthur’s seated on. “Arthur’s such a romantic; he wanted something special written inside.”

“How sweet, what are you writing?” Caroline asks.

“It’s private,” Eames tells her firmly, bending down to kiss the top of Arthur’s head. 

Caroline looks put out, but Bob gives Eames a look of approval. “A toast,” he says, raising his glass of beer. “To Arthur, for always going his own way. And to Eames, for wanting him anyway.”

Eames’ hand tightens on Arthur’s shoulder as they drink. “And to you and Caroline,” Eames says. “For the opportunity to show Arthur the way he  _ deserves _ to be loved and supported.”

Caroline looks away and Bob actually squirms in his seat, much to Arthur’s dismay. He turns his head to press a kiss to Eames’ wrist in thanks, then drains his wine glass.

“Is this Bonnie?” Eames asks, studying the pictures on the wall while Arthur refills everyone’s drinks. 

“Oh, yes,” Caroline chirps, getting up to stand next to Eames. “She’s two years younger than Arthur, but she’s already married and has given us two grandchildren.” 

The words should sting, but Arthur’s so used to the difference in how his parents talk about him and Bonnie that he’s able to ignore it, mostly. Besides, he knows Bonnie was ten weeks pregnant on her wedding day and his mother doesn’t. He’d never betray his sister’s confidence and tell their parents, but he enjoys the knowledge that his sister isn’t the perfect angel they think she is.

Eames picks a small frame off the sofa table. “Columbia?” he asks, smiling at the picture of Arthur and Ariadne in their graduation robes.

“It’s not Harvard,” Arthur jokes before his father can. “But it was the furthest.”

Eames winks at him and puts the photo back. “There aren’t very many of Arthur in here. Where are those?”

Caroline and Bob share a look. “Well, Arthur’s not very photogenic. He didn’t enjoy having his picture taken.”

Arthur snorts into his wine, knowing the dark truth.

Eames looks between Arthur and his parents, but he doesn’t push it. “Well, I’ll send over a poster sized one of us from the wedding, shall I? To make up for it.”

“Cardboard cutouts,” Arthur teases, enjoying the look of horror his mother sends him. “Then we’ll never miss out on another family photo!”

A timer goes off in the kitchen before anyone can respond, and his parents jump up and hurry out of the room.

“How’m I doing?” Eames asks, helping Arthur off the couch.

Arthur grins. He and Eames are standing very close and Eames smells very good, and it’s possible the wine has gone to Arthur’s head because he grabs hold of Eames’ open blazer and pecks him on the lips. “You’re perfect.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Nightmare Continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fell asleep numerous times while trying to post so let me know it there's something wonky.

Dinner is Bob’s famous pot roast and Arthur’s impressed his parents feel Eames is worthy of it. Caroline fills them in on everything happening in Bonnie’s life, and all the activities her kids are excelling at. Arthur ignores most of it, knowing that his nephew Deacon actually hates playing soccer, but Bonnie and her husband Paulo insist he finish what he starts. He knows Bonnie worries the kid’s schedules are too full as well, but it’s easier to let his mother think she’s his only link to them. It gives Bonnie an excuse to sneak away from the stress of her life to have dinner with him every month to fill him in.

Arthur knows it’s not Bonnie’s fault she’s the favourite, or that Arthur’s always zigged when his parents wanted him to zag, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less when he’s compared to her.

“Will you two even be able to adopt?” Bob asks, drawing Arthur’s attention. “With Arthur’s ‘condition’?”

“Dad, I’m  _ not _ dying, let it go,” Arthur grumbled, glaring at Eames when he laughs.

“I know this all seems sudden,” Eames says, clearing his throat and holding Arthur’s hand on top of the table. “But when you meet  _ the one _ , you don’t waste time, right?”

Arthur flushes and Eames kisses their joined fingers.

“Besides, Arthur is eternally beautiful and I need to lock him in before he realizes my good looks are only going to last another few years.” Everyone laughs at Eames’ self-deprecation, but Arthur frowns.

“I think you’re going to be very handsome as you age,” he says seriously, looking at Eames. “I’ll be the envy of the entire nursing home.”

“That’s very kind, Arthur, thank you.” Eames smiles at him, but it’s not his usual bright flash of teeth. This smile is softer, quiet almost; something private between them.

“What is it you do for a living, Eames?” Bob asks, breaking the moment.

“Um, Eames is—” Arthur flounders because they didn’t discuss that, and how on earth did they not come up with something acceptable beforehand?

Eames grabs his hand again, quieting him. “Let me toot my own horn for a minute, love. I’m in investment management, Bob. I do detailed analysis of niche markets, weighing risk and benefit to ensure the highest return.”

“That’s very interesting,” Bob muses, stroking his chin like a ten-cent villain. “You know, I have some investment money set aside; maybe you could help me with it.”

Arthur snorts into his wine because Eames literally described gambling and his father is eating it up like Eames is going to make him a millionaire with his insider tips.

“How much are we talking?” Eames asks eagerly, setting off alarm bells in Arthur’s head. He stomps on Eames’ foot under the table.

“Dad, it’s not really ethical of you to ask Eames for insider information. And I’m pretty sure it’s illegal for Eames to give it to you.”

“Oh,” Bob says, looking disappointed. “Right.”

“So when do we get to meet your parents, Eames?” Caroline asks, emptying the rest of the wine bottle into her glass.

“Oh, soon! Mum’s dying to meet Arthur already,” Eames gushes.

“She is?” Arthur asks, surprised.

“Course, can’t shut up about you when I’m around her,” Eames winks at him, then turns back to Caroline. “We should have you all over to the new place.”

Arthur wants to throttle him at the suggestion, but he settles for getting up to fetch another bottle of wine. Eames pats him on the ass playfully when he stands, and Arthur automatically smacks him in the back of the head, already off-centered by their increased physicality. He pauses to breathe once he’s out of sight. Dinner is going better than he imagined it would, but the pressure he feels around his parents has eased none, even with Eames playing interference.

“Be straight with us, Eames,” he hears his father whisper. “Why are you two moving so fast? Is Arthur dying or has he just realized he’s running out of time?”

“Time for what?” Eames asks, sounding puzzled and cautious.

“The bloom is nearly off the rose, dear,” Caroline supplies. “What’s the male equivalent of a spinster?”

“I just mean maybe he recognizes that he’s not going to check all his boxes,” Bob argues, ignoring his wife. “If you know what I mean.”

Eames is silent for a moment, and when he speaks, his voice is carefully blank. “Are you suggesting Arthur is  _ settling _ for me?”

“Well, he did go to an Ivy League school,” Caroline points out, and Arthur isn’t sure if he’s supposed to feel touched or pissed off.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Darling shenanigans.

Arthur’s halfway through the fresh bottle by the time dessert rolls around. 

“Think you can keep your hands to yourself, boys?” Caroline jokes as she follows Bob into the kitchen. As soon as they’re out of sight, Arthur turns on Eames.

“ _ We should have you over to the new place? _ ” he hisses, smacking Eames’ arm. “In case you forgot, there is no furniture in the  _ new place _ . There’s no anything!”

“It’s on my list,” Eames assures him. “I’ll have it done before they come over. I know a guy.”

“You basically gave them an open invitation, Eames. They could show up tomorrow!” Arthur scolds. “And what about your parents? You haven’t told me anything about them. Are we in for another night like this?”

Eames waves off his concern. “My Mum is a saint, and she’s going to love you, don’t worry.”

“And your dad?”

Eames stares at the table, looking uncomfortable for the first time since Arthur’s known him. “He did a runner when I was a kid. Left one day and just didn’t come back.”

“Shit. I’m sorry, Eames,” Arthur tells him.

Eames shrugs. “Nothing to be sorry for, Darling. He tried to get in touch when I turned twenty-one, but it’d been ten years and I didn’t feel like I had a father by then. Didn’t need one.”

“Good riddance to bad rubbish?” Arthur jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

Eames cracks a smile. “Something like that. But I can’t get married without Mum there. It would break her heart.”

Arthur nods because he can’t exactly argue. Not when Eames is going through this whole charade surrounded by Arthur’s family.

“We have an announcement to make!” Caroline says, placing a coffee cake on the table. Bob’s beside her, holding dessert plates and looking smug. “We’ve discussed it and we’re going to pay for your wedding!”

Arthur’s entire body goes stiff. Eames is on his feet, thanking and celebrating his parents, but Arthur can barely get a breath in.

“No,” he croaks, knowing he needs to put an end to this before they write any cheques.

“What do you mean, no?” Bob asks.

“You can’t, we can’t ask you to do that,” he tries, pulling Eames back down beside him.

“You’re not asking, we’re offering,” Bob argues, giving him a flat look.

“And we are graciously refusing.”

“Arthur, don’t be ridiculous—” Caroline starts.

“I’m not being ridiculous!” he says, louder than he’d planned. “This is our wedding and we’re declining your offer.”

“Arthur,” Eames coaxes, eyes wide and hard, like he’s trying to communicate, but Arthur ignores him. 

“We paid for Bonnie’s wedding,” Caroline points out. 

“Bonnie was a bride, it’s different,” he counters.

Bob laughs. “You’re telling me you’re not?”

“Careful,” Eames says darkly, giving Bob a sharp look.

“That’s not what I meant,” Bob dismisses, rolling his eyes. “Now look, we’re paying for the wedding and that’s that. We won’t take no for an answer.”

“We want to help,” Caroline says, trying to soften the offer. “We didn’t think you’d ever get married.”

“Why didn’t you offer money to put towards my condo if you’d lost all hope of a wedding for me?” Arthur asks, the wine not helping with his petulant tone.

“The condo is only for you, Arthur; weddings are for everyone,” she tells him, like he’s being obtuse on purpose.

“Let’s all sit down, yeah?” Eames says, back to being the peacemaker. “Hash this out like adults. What if we let them pay, but have a smaller wedding? Bob, you keep going on about how great the new landscaping in the backyard is, why don’t we have the ceremony here?”

Arthur shoots him a glare and Bob huffs dismissively.

“That’s more of a special place just for us,” Caroline explains, blushing and cutting Bob a secretive glance.

“Oh my god,” Arthur groans, dropping his head in his hands.

“Look, I don’t know why you’re all up in arms about this. It won’t be as much as we gave Bonnie, anyway,” Bob says.

Arthur’s head whips up. “What? Why not?”

“Well, like we said, we didn’t think you’d ever get it done. We used the money for the backyard, which increased the property value, thank you very much, and haven’t replaced it all yet.”

“You used my wedding fund to build a sex grotto in the backyard?” Arthur asks, incredulous.

“Don’t be crass, Arthur,” Caroline scolds, her cheeks still pink.

“I have to leave,” he decides, pushing up to his feet. “Eames, I’ll be in the car.”

No one protests, but as he’s struggling into his coat, he hears Eames’ voice from the dining room.

“Let me smooth things over. I’ll get him to come ‘round.”

“Good luck,” Bob tells him. “Arthur always chooses the hardest road, I hope you’re ready for that.”

Eames chuckles. “I’ve noticed, and I am. Things are better when you work for them, aren’t’ they?”

“They must be because I’ve never seen him this happy,” Bob admits. “He must really love you.”

Arthur slams the front door before he can hear anymore. He’s panting by the time he makes it to the car, falling into the passenger seat because he knows he’s too drunk to drive. His car smells like Eames already. Like the both of them. Together. The lines blurred tonight, and he wonders why pretending to be with Eames feels so easy.

Eames opens the driver’s side door and gets in, shaking his head as he stares at the house in disbelief.

“You still in?” Arthur asks, no longer sure of the answer he’s looking for.

Eames sighs and looks him over, a smile quirking at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, dear.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psst! This is one of my favourite chapters!

“I should have expected this when you said you knew a guy who could get us furniture,” Arthur says, bracing himself. 

“Yes, you should’ve,” Eames tells him with a grin as he opens the warehouse door and ushers Arthur inside.

“Think we can get in and out before he notices us?”

“Gentlemen!” Saito calls from across the large space. He’s on a chair in the shape of a hand today, neon yellow with a dark green marbling, the taupe rug draped over his thigh.

“Not likely,” Eames muses, waving at Saito. “Besides, we have to talk him into adding it to our debt because we’re still broke.”

“ _ Our _ debt?” Arthur scowls, following Eames as he picks his way through the showrooms.

“Til debt do us part?” Eames asks with a smirk.

“If that were the saying, we wouldn’t be in this mess,” he grumbles.

“Just remember this  _ mess _ was your idea, Darling,” Eames says under his breath. “Saito, so lovely to see you!”

Saito nods at them both, not getting up from his throne du jour. “To what do I owe this pleasure? Don’t tell me you’re ready to pay me back so soon?”

“As wonderful an occasion as that would be, I’m afraid not,” Eames says with a pout.

Saito’s eyes narrow.

“Arthur, why don’t you tell our benefactor about the truck?” Eames shoves him forward, almost right into Saito’s lap. 

Arthur shoots him a dark look, but does as he’s told. Saito is quiet while he speaks, his look inscrutable as Arthur rambles on about loveseats and bevelled edge mirrors. They’re all staring at him when he finally tapers off, having run out of things to say. Saito’s men look amused and Eames is full-on beaming at him.

“What?” he asks, frowning.

“You’re very passionate about furniture,” Yusuf tells him.

“And linens,” Nash adds.

“A man after my heart,” Saito says with a smirk. “Very well, go forth and make your selections. Yusuf will join you and record them. We’ll have them delivered later today.”

“Thank you,” Eames said with feeling, pulling Arthur away.

“One more thing,” Arthur says, ignoring the cutting motions Eames makes. “Any chance we can return it all when we’re done with it?”

The look Saito gives him shrivels his soul. “I am not in the business of  _ used _ furniture, Arthur.”

“Right,” he says, letting Eames drag him back. “Sorry.”

“Return it, seriously?” Eames hisses once they’re safely out of hearing range.

“I had to try,” he insists, wrestling his arm away from Eames. “The less we rack up with him, the better. I’m not sure why it matters if it’s used, he’s clearly using the business to launder money. Who cares if the front is new or used furniture?”

“Oh my god, Arthur, shut up,” Eames tells him in a harsh whisper, looking around for anyone who may have heard. “Saito may look like a harmless eccentric, but he’s on top of his profession for a reason and it’s not because of his kind nature.”

“He’s what you consider harmless and kind?” Arthur asks, stunned.

Eames glowers. “Have you met many loan sharks, Darling?”

“No,” he admits.

“Then best you cede to my expertise, yeah?”

Yusuf appears beside them holding a small black notebook and a pencil, starting expectantly. He follows them from showroom to showroom, laughing quietly when it becomes clear that Arthur and Eames have  _ very _ different tastes in furniture.

“That looks like it’s going to swallow you whole,” Arthur says as Eames sits in an overstuffed leather chair.

Eames waggles his eyebrows. “Jealous?”

Despite the stress they’re under, arguing over furniture with Eames is fun. Arthur can feel the flush in his cheeks as he fights for wooden bar stools for the island, and there’s a new light in Eames’ eyes as he tells him his ass will go flat and numb if he’s forced to sit on them for over five minutes. It’s friendly banter made intimate by the nature of the subject. It’s complicated, but easy. Important, but childish. It’s  _ domestic _ .

They take a break when Yusuf declares he needs coffee to continue dealing with them, and Arthur and Eames settle into a showroom that looks straight from Liberace’s mansion to wait. 

“So what’s the big deal with your parents paying for the wedding?” Eames asks, sucking all the joy out of Arthur’s afternoon.

Arthur groans, dropping his head back.

“Come on now,” Eames presses. “After meeting them, I can see that it’s a big deal for them to make the offer.”

“But they didn’t offer,” Arthur bites out. “They decided. And that’s how the rest of it will go, too. They’ll decide everything for us, and we’ll end up with a wedding we didn’t want. It happened with Bonnie, and she’s their favourite, so I can only imagine what they’ll subject me to.”

“Okay, but, and don’t bite my head off for saying this, but what does it matter?” Eames asks, lowering his voice before continuing. “It’s not real, right? So who cares what it looks like?”

Arthur closes his eyes and prays the ground will open up and swallow him so he doesn’t have to answer. When it doesn’t, it sighs and sits up. “They’re not the only ones who gave up on the idea of me getting married, okay? And it’s fine, I’ve come to terms with it, but this is going to be the only marriage I ever have, Eames. I’m prickly, and fussy, and a lot of other things. I know I’m a lot, and it’s fine because that’s who I am and I like me. I don’t need anyone else to validate my life. But there’s still a part of me that wants the wedding of my dreams. That wants it to be a celebration of me and, and of you, I guess. Of us, no matter that it’s not the ‘us’ I imagined. Because it’s still a day that’s about the agreement we’ve made to each other. I don’t want to look back on it with regret.”

Eames looks stunned. “Arthur, that’s—”

“And my parents only take an interest in my life when they think they can get their way, and I’m not letting them do that.  _ We’re _ not letting them do that. You want them to pay, fine. But we do it our way and we will pay back every cent they give us if it takes ten years, that’s the deal. If you don’t like it, you can find another fake fiance.”

Eames stares at him, a look on his face Arthur hasn’t seen yet. It’s almost like awe, but there’s something heady there, too. Then he smirks, and the look vanishes.

“You want to stay married to me for ten years?” Eames teases.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Tin is the traditional gift for the tenth and I’ll expect more than a can of beans.”

Eames watches him as Arthur gets to his feet, following suit and stepping close. “Spotted dick it is.”

Arthur’s laugh draws the attention of half the warehouse, and he can’t help the smile he carries for the rest of the afternoon.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing... Eames' Mom! And some UST for good measure.

Arthur lets himself back into the apartment, sweaty and panting, heading straight for the fridge for water. It’s cold as fuck outside, but it took nine miles for him to outrun his thoughts and he’s unpleasantly warm.

“I’m really enjoying this side of you,” Eames says from his spot on the couch, exactly where he was when Arthur left over an hour ago, soft and sleepy in a thin t-shirt and sweatpants.

Arthur chuckles and shakes his head before chugging his water. When he puts down the glass, he’s surprised to find Eames in front of him, his eyes trained on Arthur’s heaving chest.

“You look good,” Eames tells him, stopping a drop of sweat on Arthur’s neck with his thumb. “All worked up and flushed.”

Things have been different between them since they picked out the furniture. Easier. Like finding they could compromise on those decisions opened them up to what else they could meet in the middle on. And speaking of meeting in the middle…

“Yeah?” Arthur asks, still breathless, wondering if he’s reading this right. It feels like they’ve been on the cusp of  _ something _ for days. The kind of something that has Arthur up at dawn on a December morning to run off his libido.

Eames hums. “I bet you have unbelievable stamina.”

“Only one way to find out,” Arthur says, feeling brave with Eames so close. Eames’ eyes widen in surprise, his pupils dilating as he leans in, his lips barely an inch from Arthur’s, and the want between them is so thick Arthur can almost taste it because he wants this, he realizes. Wants intimacy with Eames to be a part of their marriage and in this moment he doesn’t care what the rules of it may be, he just  _ wants _ . 

His eyes drift closed, ready for whatever may come, and then the front door opens and his mother is complaining about lack of parking on the street.

“Huh?” he sputters, unsure of when his nightmares became his reality. Eames is on the other side of the island, licking his thumb before taking some bags from Bob.

“Oh, Arthur, you’re disgusting,” Caroline complains. “Go clean up.”

“Why are you here?” he asks, still confused. “How did you get in?”

“Your neighbour was heading out as we arrived,” she tells him brightly. “She let us in.”

Arthur silently curses the woman and glares at the bags. “What are those?”

“Wedding magazines, Arthur; we have no time to waste!” Caroline says, clapping her hands. “Now, go clean up before you stink up the entire apartment and we’ll get started.”

“Need any help?” Eames asks, throwing him a wink. It’s playful and distracting, and Arthur gives him a grateful smile. Caroline looks horrified, like Arthur may actually say yes, so he blows Eames a kiss and heads for the shower. They shared a moment and they can find it again, he’s sure. If they both want it, it’s only a matter of time.

When Arthur returns to the wedding planning ‘party’ it’s to an argument. It’s quiet and polite, but the air is tense and there’s a vein throbbing in Eames’ forehead.

“What’s up?” he asks, tentative.

“Your mother has booked their club for our wedding,” Eames explains, arms crossed defiantly.

Caroline turns to him, clearly expecting his acceptance. “We’re lucky to get it on such short notice, Arthur; a bride cancelled. But it was her second wedding, so it’s not bad luck for you.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Bob says, rolling his eyes.

“Now tell him how much it is,” Eames orders with false sweetness.

Caroline’s expression sours. “Three hundred and fifty dollars a head.”

“So just the four of us on the guest list, yeah?” Eames jokes lamely.

“It’s all inclusive!” Caroline argues, and Arthur is already getting a headache.

“With less than a month until the wedding, you don’t have a lot of choices,” Bob cuts in, trying to mediate. “Doing it at the club means the rehearsal, the reception, music, photography, they include all of that. One stop shopping.”

“Your favourite,” Arthur mumbles, startled when his dad sends him a smirk.

“Or we could find a nice park and do a cocktail hour afterwards,” Eames counters. “It’s a hell of a lot cheaper.”

“In December? You’re not paying for it, dear, why are you so against it?” Caroline demands, close to losing her temper.

“Because it’s still  _ our _ wedding!” Eames says and stomps out, closing himself in Arthur’s/their bedroom. It occurs to him then that Eames is repeating all the worries Arthur told him at Saito’s. He’s trying to reign Caroline in for Arthur. He’s upset  _ for Arthur _ .

“Why don’t you guys go pick up something for brunch?” Arthur asks, giving his parents a brief smile. “Give us a few minutes.”

He waits for them to leave before going into the bedroom where he finds Eames laying on his new bed. He’s staring at the ceiling like it personally offended him, and Arthur can’t help but smile.

“While I appreciate what you’re trying to do, I can fight my own battles,” Arthur tells him gently, leaning against the closed door.

Eames huffs. “You just had to tell me about all that, didn’t you? Now that I know them, they’re my worries, too. She’s going to railroad us if we don’t push back. Did you see the announcement she sent to the paper? The men in the picture aren’t even us!”

“Well, what did you expect? I didn’t have a photo of the two of you,” Arthur mimics his mother’s voice, hoping to get a smile out of Eames and failing. “We’re going to have to fight for everything, we knew that. But, there are easier ways than all out warfare.”

Eames scoffs, finally looking at Arthur. “Arguing with an angry badger would be easier.”

“Probably, but step one is to get you to relax,” he says, pushing off the door.

Eames eyes him with interest. “Is that your job now?”

“Well, I  _ am _ your betrothed,” Arthur teases, standing over him. Eames’ hand wraps around his hip, tugging gently until Arthur’s bent over him.

“Felt like we got interrupted out there,” Eames mumbles. “Before.”

“Before,” Arthur agrees, licking his lips. 

The front door buzzer goes off and Eames groans. 

Arthur laughs and stands up, backing away. “It might be your Mom.”

Eames’ eyes snap to the door and then he’s up, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s cheek as he hurries to the intercom.

Eames’ mom Farrah is… Arthur’s not sure what she is, but he likes her. She arrives in a whirlwind of aged hippy glory, showering Eames with affection and cooing over Arthur’s ‘beautiful aura’. What endears her to Arthur, though, is the way she greets Caroline with a curious sniff and wrinkles her nose in displeasure. Arthur’s never seen his mother look so offbeat, and he doesn’t feel even a little bad about enjoying it.

Bob gets a curt hello, and Arthur wonders how much Eames told her about his parents. They have brunch and Eames’ accent grows thicker the longer his mother stays, which fascinates Arthur. They discuss the wedding, but every time Caroline tries to assert her opinion, Arthur asks for another story of Eames as a child, which are all delightful and funny. Eames preens under his mother’s attention, and Arthur wonders what it’s like to matter so much to someone. 

Predictably, Caroline can only go so long without being the centre of attention.

“Your first meeting with Reverend Jim is on Tuesday,” she informs him in the loudest whisper possible while Farrah is describing Eames’s childhood obsession with bullfrogs.

Arthur sighs when the announcement kills the conversation. “Mom, you know I don’t believe in organized religion.”

“And we compromised on that and you’re not getting married in a church. But Reverend Jim is still doing the ceremony. The wedding isn’t all about you, after all.”

“Who is it about?” Farrah asks, genuinely confused.

“It’s about family. And tradition,” she explains.

“And we’re excited to start both,” Eames chimes in. “ _ On our own terms _ .”

“Once you’re married, you can do whatever you want,” Bob says, like it’s a grand concession.

“I want that in writing,” Arthur tells him seriously.

“I don’t see what the issue is,” Bob continues. “It’s obvious the two of you are in love and have nothing to hide. Go meet with the Rev and check off another box. One less thing to worry about.”

Arthur looks to Eames, who shrugs, leaving it up to him.

“Fine, but if he refuses to marry us it’s not my fault,” Arthur concedes.

“Oh, Arthur, you’re so dramatic,” Caroline tells him, taking hold and steering the conversation back to the wedding for the rest of the visit.

Later, when it’s just Arthur, Eames, and Farrah, making piles of the wedding magazines and clearing off the table, Arthur finally lets himself relax. They got a lot accomplished today despite the arguments, and it actually looks like the wedding is on track. 

He makes coffee and the three of them sit in the living room, Farrah fidgeting like there’s something on her mind.

“I didn’t want to say anything with Arthur’s parents here,” she starts, watching Eames closely. “But your father called.”

“And you hung up, changed your number, and burned down the house for good measure?” Eames asks with a tight smile.

She gives him an unimpressed look. “No. He says he wants to make amends.”

“You’re not going back to him, are you?” Eames demands.

“Of course not,” Farrah chides, smacking him on the hand. “I told him I want nothing from him. But I did mention your upcoming wedding.”

“Mum, you didn’t,” Eames groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“He’s your father—” she stops, taking a deep breath. “I’m not here to have this argument with you again. He’s offered to pay for half the wedding.”

“Seriously?” Arthur laughs. “That’s great.”

“Absolutely not!” Eames says, glaring at him.

Arthur grins with no remorse. “I think yes. Definitely.”

“Arthur,” he warns, but Arthur cuts him off by holding up one of the wedding magazines his parents brought, the meaning clear.

“Oh, sweetums. Turn around is fair play.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another favourite of mine!

They argue in the car on the way to meet with Reverend Jim. Arthur’s been in a foul mood since a courier dropped off the wedding programs Caroline ordered without consulting them. There’s mistletoe on them. Apparently it’s a thing.

“It’s poisonous, Eames,” Arthur repeats for the fifth time, clearly annoyed that Eames isn’t seeing the problem.

“But festive. We’re having a Christmas wedding, after all. Be happy she didn’t put Santa on them.”

“It’s like she’s saying we’re poisonous,” Arthur argues. “Like our marriage will be toxic.”

“God forbid our fake marriage be anything but perfect,” Eames mutters, still sore about Artur overruling him on accepting money from his father.

Arthur grits his teeth. “Our relationship is fake, the marriage won’t be.”

“Whatever,” Eames says, turning away and facing out the window. 

Arthur pulls the car over suddenly, throwing Eames into the dashboard.

“Are you in this or not?” he demands, breath quick and hands white on the steering wheel.

Eames frowns. “Of course I am, what kind of question is that?”

“The kind of question I find myself asking every time you pick a fight over money, or, or ice sculptures!” 

“You’d love it if I had no say in any of this, wouldn’t you? If you could control every detail of our arrangement, of our  _ marriage _ , so you don’t have to do any of the work,” Eames accuses, frustrated by Arthur constantly questioning his commitment. 

“I already do all the work!” Arthur explodes, looking at Eames like he’s sprouted a second head.

“No, you try to dictate. And then I have to smooth everything over. With your parents, with Saito, with our friends.”  _ With myself _ , he adds mentally. Eames always seems to talk himself into believing Arthur doesn’t mean the harsh things he says, just as it feels like they’re making progress towards  _ something _ between them. 

“It’s a wonder I have anyone at all,” Arthur sneers, but it’s missing its usual bite. There’s a dullness to Arthur’s eyes that makes Eames’ chest ache.

“I didn’t say—”

“Whatever,” Arthur mutters, pulling back into the street. “We’re going to be late.”

Reverend Jim is a small man with a personable manner and a booming voice. Eames thinks that in any other circumstance, he’d quite enjoy speaking with him, but with Arthur’s brittle edges on display, Eames can barely force a smile on his face when they meet.

Jim takes them into the basement of the church, where there’s a counselling room set up with couches and boxes of Kleenex. He wonders idly how many marriages have died in this room. How many were saved.

“So,” Jim starts, sitting across from them with open posture and a smile. “How’s the wedding planning going?”

Eames opens his mouth to respond, knowing Arthur’s opposition to this whole vetting process, but he has barely taken a breath to speak when Arthur laughs.

“Besides my mother trying to take over every decision? Because that, we expected. It’s Rule #1 in the ‘How to Caroline’ handbook. What I didn’t expect was my  _ fiance _ ,” he says the word like it’s an insult, making Eames grunt. “Being a complete hypocrite.”

“Hypocrite?” Eames questions, temper flaring.

“Should I use smaller words?” Arthur asks innocently before turning back to Jim. “He refuses to accept his father’s offer to pay for half the wedding, but he’s perfectly fine with my parents paying for all of it!”

“Well, I’d hate to put a spanner in your desperate search for parental approval!” he counters. If Arthur wants to play dirty, Eames will bring the mud.

“Because your refusal to even speak to your father in case his life hasn’t been a complete tragedy since he left is so much healthier,” Arthur bites back, folding is arms and legs away from Eames. “You’re the poster child for Daddy Issues and it’s not attractive.”

Eames rolls his eyes and most of his body along with them. “Drop the concerned act, you just want my father to pay for half the wedding.”

“I think,” Jim interrupts, his deep voice brokering no argument. “That Arthur may worry you’ll bring your feelings toward your father into potential fatherhood with—”

“No, I just want his father to pay for half the wedding,” Arthur says, blunt and honest, and Eames laughs because he loves that about him, even when he wants to throttle him. 

“Eames is a gambling addict,” Arthur announces, and Eames laughs louder. “And his dad is at the root of his problem, I’m just trying to help him recover and heal.”

“I see,” Jim drawls, looking between them.

“He owes $15,000 to a loan shark,” Arthur continues, looking satisfied. Eames wants to wipe it off his face. No way the Reverend will marry them now and the inevitable rejection makes him feel reckless.

“It’s not fifteen, it’s twenty thousand! Ha! Didn’t see that coming, did you?” he blurts, feeling the relief of getting it all out in the open. It’s all gone to hell now, may as well go for broke. “It was fifteen until we asked for the extension; the sweetness clause is another five grand for more time.”

“Uh, Arthur, do you want to tell Eames how that makes you feel?” Jim tries, sounding worried.

“Well, I’m not surprised!” Arthur cries, leaning toward him. “Anything else you’re not telling me?”

“Yeah,” Eames says, getting in Arthur’s face. “I used your fancy-pants face cream,” Eames’ eyes flick down to Arthur’s lips and back to his fuming eyes. “On my balls.”

“I lied about liking your tiramisu,” Arthur counters with a sharp smile.

“I’ve been refilling bags of your expensive coffee with a discount brand.”

“That lasagna you love? It’s vegan.”

“I changed the flower order because poinsettias at a Christmas wedding are a cliche. I hope you like French Tulips!” His heart is pounding, and he clenches his fists, but he can feel Arthur’s breath on his face, and the fire in his eyes reminds Eames of the first time they met.

Arthur’s laugh is scornful as he puts himself right in Eames’ face, their noses brushing when Arthur speaks. “I put your full name on the wedding invitations.”

“You little sh—”

“Gentlemen!” Jim cuts in, startling them apart. He gives them a serious look, full of worry and caution. “In light of your… confessions, I have to ask. Would you like to cancel the wedding?”

“No way,” Arthur scoffs like the idea is absurd and stands.

Eames follows suit, panting and grinning, half hard in his trousers. “Felt good to get it all out. Thanks for your time, Rev.”

Eames holds out his hand, relaxing when Arthur takes it, his fingers warm and strong against his. 

Eames holds open the door for Arthur, “See you at the service!” 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a storm a-brewin'!

The next day, Arthur and Eames tackle invitations. Sitting at the island with a bottle of wine, working like a well-oiled machine while Sufjan Stevens rasps about going to the country in the background. Eames is editing the invitations with a Sharpie and stuffing the envelopes while Arthur tackles the address stickers and stamps. It’s a calm moment in the storm of their relationship, and Arthur can admit he’s enjoying himself. Of course, that’s when it all goes to hell.

Frantic knocking starts at the door and when Eames opens it, Arthur’s parents swoop in, Caroline making a B-Line for Arthur while Bob glowers at Eames.

“The wedding is off!” his mother declares, pulling the invitations away from him.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, his own confusion mirrored in Eames’ face when they share a glance.

“Reverend Jim called us,” Bob tells them gravely.

“So much for the confidentiality of confession,” Eames mutters.

“He told us about Eames’ ‘little problem’ and the money he owes,” Caroline continues with finger quotes. “It’s clear we need to step in and keep you from making a terrible mistake.”

“No offense, Eames,” Bob adds. “We like you, but we know Arthur makes poor decisions when it comes to men.”

“I think I’m going to take offense anyway, Bob, if that’s alright with you,” Eames tells him cooly.

“So am I,” Arthur says, walking away from his mother’s clinging. “I do not make poor decisions about men.”

“Have you forgotten all about Robert Fischer breaking your heart?” Caroline asks.

Arthur throws his hands up in protest. “Oh my god, mother, I was sixteen! I have dated guys since him, you know.”

“How would we? You never bring anyone home to meet us,” she says.

“Can’t imagine why,” Eames mutters under his breath.

“I really can’t believe how you’re behaving,” Arthur tells them, taking Eames’ hand and holding it tight. “You want me to abandon the man I love because he’s not perfect? Because he was brave enough to show me his flaws right from the start?”

“But Arthur, the money,” Bob implores.

“When you got laid off when we were kids and you had to take out a second mortgage, did mom leave you?” he asks.

“Well, no,” Bob admits with a frown.

“No, she stuck by you until you found something better, and you worked together to pay it off. And Mom, what did Dad do when you broke your leg skiing and you had to have surgery and couldn’t walk for six weeks?”

Caroline looks uncomfortable, but she answers. “He took care of me.”

“Exactly!” Arthur cries, pulling Eames closer to him. “You took care of each other because that’s what you promised to do. In sickness and in health. In good times and bad. You’re a team, and we will be too. Because I’m staying with Eames. I won’t break my promises to him just because there might be bumps along the way. You raised me too well for that.”

Bob and Caroline look ashamed, but touched, and they can’t quite look either of them in the eye.

“Besides,” Eames pipes up, cheerfully. “The catering deposit is non-refundable.”

Arthur laughs and buries his face in Eames’ shoulder.

“Well then,” Caroline says, smoothing out her hair. “Let’s get these invitations finished, they should have gone out yesterday.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and Eames pulls him away from them.

“Thanks for that, yeah?” he tells Athur quietly. “Don’t think anyone’s ever gone to bat for me like that.”

“Not like I had a choice,” he jokes, the laugh dying in this throat when Eames’ face falls. Arthur curses himself for ruining the moment again. “Eames, I—”

“There’s a Gambler’s Anonymous meeting at the rec center in half an hour,” he says, pulling away and grabbing his jacket. “Best continue the charade. Don’t want anyone getting suspicious.”

“Eames, that’s not what I—” he starts, but Eames is already gone.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the mix-up with the chapters this morning! It's all fixed now.

By the time the meeting starts, Eames’ anger has burned itself out, and he’s left feeling reckless and alone. It was foolish of him to think Arthur’s defence of him was anything beyond keeping their con going. Ridiculous to hope Arthur would come after him and tell him he meant every word. Eames shakes his head, ashamed of falling into the trap of wanting Arthur again and again. It’s just physical. It has to be. Because anything more and Eames won’t walk away unscathed.

“Would you like to speak?” the leader asks, startling him.

“Oh, um, I suppose,” He doesn’t stand, but he leans forward to engage the circle of people. “My name is Eames and I’m a compulsive gambler.”

“Hi Eames,” they echo back at him.

“This isn’t my first time at one of these, but it’s been a while,” he clears his throat. “I’m getting married in a little over a week and my future in-laws just found out about my… well. Anyway, my fiance stuck up for me, said a lot of nice things about staying by my side and helping me recover. But that didn’t stop me from feeling like I’ve let him down. I know I’m not good enough for him, I’ve always known that, but we’d gotten to the point where it was working, you know? Things were good, things felt… right. Then the bomb dropped. And it wasn’t anything he didn’t know, but now I feel like gum under his shoe. The way his parents looked at me… I hate when people look at me like that.” 

There’s silence in the room save for the muted sounds of people shifting in their seats, and Eames can’t believe he just said all of that. He’d never opened up at a meeting before. It feels good; it feels like relief.

“So I’m here because I feel like I want to ruin something for myself and I can’t do that ‘cause it’s not just me anymore. I have to think about him and what we’re trying to build. Together.” 

“Thank you for sharing, Eames,” the leader says once it’s clear Eames has finished. “We’re happy you’re here with us.”

For the rest of the meeting, Eames sits and listens to the others. Some of them are well into recovery and the meetings are a habit, reminding them how far they’ve come. Or how far they can fall. Others are hanging on by their teeth, living day-to-day, just waiting for the bottom to fall out. Slowly, his reckless desires fade and he settles into a headspace that allows him to look ahead and behind without feeling lost. It’s not a cure, not even a therapy, really. Just a mindfulness he can take home. Back to Arthur.

He’s stacking chairs at the end of the meeting when a woman introduces herself. She didn’t speak during the meeting, but Eames immediately noticed her designer clothes and the ruby brooch on her coat.

“I’m Grace,” she says, offering her hand. “Can I buy you a coffee?”

A month ago, Eames would have said yes. She’s older, but attractive. Assertive and professional, but most of all, wealthy. Eames would have jumped at the chance.

“I’m flattered, but like I said, I’m engaged,” he answers politely.

“My mother would have said you don’t look like the marrying kind,” Grace tells him with humour in her eyes. “And that wasn’t a proposition.”

“Oh,” Eames flushes, wiping his hands on his jeans. The others have cleared out, and it’s just the two of them in the room.

“Your story sounds like mine. I just thought you might need someone to talk to.”

Eames huffs out a breath, nodding. “That would — yeah. I’d like that, ta.”

“I was twenty-six the first time I got married,” Grace tells him at an all-night diner a few blocks away. “Poor man had no idea what he’d gotten himself into. By thirty I’d spent everything and demanded a divorce.”

“Must have been hard,” Eames remarks, watching her. Grace’s poker face and no nonsense manner reminds him of Arthur, but the way she talks about risk is the same as any addict.

“I broke his heart,” she admits. “And he didn’t deserve that. My second husband, on the other hand, was a bastard from the start and I don’t regret spending any of his money.”

Eames chuckles into his coffee.

“He was nearly as bad as me, but his addiction was race horses, so it was seen as acceptable. Do you have any idea how much a champion racehorse costs to board, Eames?”

“Can’t say that I do.”

“Pray you never find out,” she advises. “He left me penniless. That’s when I decided I needed to take a hard look at my life. Well, the New York District Attorney decided for me, really.”

Eames’ eyebrows rise. “They charged you?”

“I told you he was a bastard. Accused me of embezzling from his company while I served as the events coordinator.”

“Did you?” Eames ask, cheeky.

Grace looks down her nose at him, then cracks a smile. “Not anymore than he did, but I wasn’t as skilled at hiding it. Plus, the accountants were on his payroll, not mine.”

“How long were you inside?”

“Eighteen months, though it wasn’t awful. Martha Stewart was there while I was,” she tells him, signalling the server for more coffee.

“How glamorous,” he teases.

“The point is, when I got out, I realized I didn’t want to have to depend on anyone anymore. I didn’t want to hurt anyone, either. I vowed never to spend anyone else’s money again. If I was going to gamble, it would only be a detriment to me.”

“And it worked?” he asks, leaning on the table.

“Mostly,” she winks. “It’s been fourteen years and I still get the urge to bum a twenty for scratch tickets.”

Eames nods, smiling. “You seem to be doing alright now.”

Grace thinks about that for a minute before pursing her lips. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over the urge to bet. It’s like an itch I won’t scratch. Some days it’s barely noticeable, others it’s all I can think about. You know what I’ve found helps the most?”

“What?” Eames asks, eager to know.

“Having a life. You need a life, dear. Beyond the gambling, beyond your fiance. You need things that are just for you. Hobbies, dreams, passions. Things to keep you from standing still. You won’t learn if you don’t grow.”

“I have nothing like that,” Eames admits, humbled.

“I didn’t think so,” Grace says kindly. “Now, I’m not saying your man isn’t something wonderful in your life, and I’m sure the wedding planning has you busy, but when all that is over, if something happens and you two don’t make it, you need to have something to cling to that isn’t a loan voucher.”

“I understand what you’re saying,” Eames tells her, turning his cup in circles. “And I used to have  _ things _ , but it’s been a while.”

“Is there anything you used to enjoy that isn’t in your life anymore? Something that has nothing to do with gambling?”

Eames thinks, then he thinks some more. He used to enjoy playing pool, even did some tourneys years ago, but then it turned into hustling pool on the weekends and outrunning his opponent when they figured it out. 

“I used to draw,” he confesses, a smile coming with the memory. “When I was a kid, I drew on everything I could. My mum let me draw on the walls of our old house, even. Dad was furious when he found out, but she wouldn’t let him stop me.”

“Why  _ did _ you stop?”

“I was eleven when we moved to the US. I’m pretty sure Dad was running from someone he owed because there was no warning. We took what we could carry and left in the middle of the night. A few months later, mum sent me to the store for milk and these two guys cornered me on my way back, asking me questions about my dad. He’d disappeared almost as soon as we got off the plane and we hadn’t seen him since.”

“They didn’t believe you?” Grace guesses.

Eames shrugs, “Didn’t really matter in the end. They broke my wrist knocking me around, told me to make sure Dad got their message or they’d be back. I never saw them again, so I guess he paid them, but I never saw him again either, so I don’t know. After it healed, I just didn’t feel like drawing anything.”

“Jesus, that’s dark,” Grace tells him, and he can’t help but laugh.

“It really fucking is,” he agrees, giggling.

“So, draw,” Grace says once they’ve calmed down.

“I probably don’t remember how,” he protests.

“I’m sure it’s like riding a bike.”

“Can’t do that either,” he says, laughing again.

“You’re ridiculous,” Grace accuses.

Eames sighs, sobering. “That’s what Arthur says.”

Grace hums. “Draw something for Arthur.”

“What? No,” he says, shaking his head. “He’d laugh at me.”

“Would he?” she asks.

“No, probably not,” he admits, fidgeting. “But what would I even draw for him?”

“What you draw doesn’t matter, Eames. It’s the act that counts.”

“So draw something for him to have something for myself?” he asks, confused.

“Exactly. It’ll be cathartic. Might even get you laid,” she says with a wink.

Eames laughs, too high and too loud, choking the sound off when Grace gives him a worried look.

“So, are you my sponsor now or something?” he asks after a minute.

Grace blows out a noisy breath. “God help us, I think I am.”

Eames smiles, grateful that Grace approached him. That she sees something in him worth saving. “Then Grace, I have one simple question for you. Will you come to my wedding? I’ve only got four people on my side of the church and it’s an open bar.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's kind of angsty, but have no fear, we're still heading toward a Happily Ever After!

When Arthur goes to bed that night, Eames still isn’t home. He wakes in the morning to an empty apartment and a tightness in his chest. It’s not panic, not yet, but it’s close. He feels like if he thinks about it too much, he’ll lose what little pride he has and spend the day waiting by the door. Hoping.

So he goes to work, and he doesn’t think about Eames. He eats lunch alone at his desk, the bright winter sun an insult to his foul mood. He’s done all his work by three o’clock, but he drags his feet until four thirty, then he takes the long way home, all the while ignoring the voice in his head that whispers things Arthur’s not ready to hear yet. Things about Eames.

He has a moment of relief when he reaches the door and hears Eames singing along to a Christmas album inside the apartment. Because if he can hear him, it means Eames is back, and safe, and now Arthur doesn’t have to worry about what he’s going to do to keep everything from falling apart. 

He opens the door and Eames looks up with a giant smile. Instantly, Arthur’s mad. Eames doesn’t look like he spent the night worrying about Arthur. He doesn’t seem like Arthur not welcoming him back was in question. Eames smiles like everything is going his way and it makes Arthur want to scream.

“Welcome home, Darling!” Eames cries, wiping his hands on a dishtowel and moving to take Arthur’s coat. “I’m making lasagna, full of meat, in celebration of the arrival of our first wedding gift! Well, your wedding gift. I can’t wait to watch you open it, then I want to tell you about this woman I met last night. She was incredible.”

Arthur doesn’t answer him, going into his room to change. His eyes sting and his throat is full, and he can’t be about to cry because Eames didn’t think about him. He just needs a shower and some sleep. Of course he worried about Eames while he was gone, that’s a perfectly normal thing to do when someone doesn’t come home. Especially someone like Eames. And it’s not like they set rules regarding seeing other people. Not that he knows that’s what Eames was doing. He knows nothing, really, so there’s no point dwelling on it. Or thinking about it. 

He shuts himself in the shower and forces his mind blank as best he can. Focusing on washing his hair and his body and not on the off-tune melody of Eames humming through the wall.

There’s a beer waiting for him on the island when he returns to the kitchen.

“Lasagna will be another half hour,” Eames tells him, subdued.

Arthur nods and takes a drink, avoiding Eames’ gaze.

“Look, I should apologize for not coming home last night,” he says, slicing a lime.

“You didn’t?” Arthur asks, flipping through one of the many wedding magazines lying around. “I didn’t notice.”

“Right,” Eames says crisply. “I guess I don’t have to apologize then.”

“I guess you don’t,” Arthur tells him with a shrug, still not looking at him.

He can hear the air Eames is forcing in and out of his nose, something he’s come to learn is Eames trying to control his temper. Arthur just takes another drink and flips the page.

“I was looking at that one earlier,” Eames finally says, using the knife to tap the article about wedding vows Arthur’s landed on. “I think we should write our own. The traditional ones don’t really fit us, do they?”

“You think you’ll be able to string enough coherent words together to get it done or should I expect ‘Live Fast, Eat Ass’, on our wedding day?” Arthur asks, blinking at him innocently.

Eames’ nostrils flare, but he doesn’t take the bait. “We could write each others, then we’ll both look good.”

“Fine,” Arthur says, grabbing a pen and scribbling in the article's margin. “My Dearest Arthur, thank you for saving me from vicious loan sharks, keeping me from being homeless, and teaching me personal hygiene. Cheers.”

“What the hell has gotten into you?” Eames asks, cracks showing in his calm veneer.

“Nothing has gotten into me; probably can’t say the same about you, though,” he snaps, feeling his face heat.

Eames drops the knife on the counter with a clang. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you running out of here yesterday, leaving me to deal with my parents, and not coming home! I’m talking about you being out all night and not even calling to let me know you weren’t coming back! I’m talking about what an inconsiderate prick you are to be out messing around with other people while I’m left here to look like a fool!” He’s panting, but he can’t catch his breath. He’s said too much, and he knows he’s about to lose everything.

“I wasn’t  _ messing around _ ,” Eames hisses.

“Then who is this woman you spent the night with?” he demands, crossing his arms.

“She’s— you know what? No. I’m not doing this with you, Arthur,” Eames tells him, and the use of Arthur’s name is like a slap in the face. “Being fake engaged to you doesn’t mean I’m going to stop living my life. This,” he motions between them. “Is a business transaction. Nothing more.”

“Fine,” Arthur says, grinding his jaw to stop the sob that wants to escape.

“Fine,” Eames bites out, turning away.

Arthur stops halfway to his room. “But as long as we’re together, you keep it in your pants or I’m out. I won’t have people think you’re cheating on me.”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Eames tells him in a low voice. “But I slept at my mother’s.”

It’s like a bucket of cold water pours over his head, but Eames has already turned away, his body language stalling the apology that wants to bust out of Arthur’s mouth. His phone rings, nearly vibrating off the counter. It stops before he gets to it, but then Eames’ starts and Arthur’s mind fills with dread.

“Hel—” Eames answers, frowning when he’s cut off. Arthur can hear someone speaking, quick and high on the other line.

“Where?” he asks, and the look he sends Arthur is chilling. “We’re on our way.”

“What is it?” Arthur asks as soon as Eames ends the call. He shuts off the stove and comes around the corner to lay his hands on Arthur’s shoulders. “Eames, what’s happened?”

“It’s Bonnie. There’s been an accident.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another cliffhanger? Ugh, I'm the worst!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters today! Woot!

Arthur doesn’t register much on the drive to the hospital except that Eames has to put his seatbelt on for him. He knows Eames talks the whole way because the sound of his voice is the only thing keeping Arthur sane as worst-case scenarios flash through his mind. And then Eames guides him out of the car and into the Emergency Department doors.

And now he’s standing here, staring at his younger sister in a hospital bed, bandages covering almost every inch of her, two arms and a leg elevated and in casts. A sob wracks his body, but Eames catches him before he collapses.

“Bonnie,” he whines, his heart breaking for her. For Paulo and the kids. 

“Arthur?” Bonnie calls out, and Arthur frowns at the bed. Slowly, Eames turns them around, and Arthur gapes at his sister and her husband who are on the other side of the room, partially hidden by a curtain.

“Oh my god, Mom said you were hit by a train!” Arthur cries, rushing to take her hand.

“What?” Bonnie asks just as Caroline appears from the private bathroom. “Mom, did you tell Arthur I got hit by a train?”

“You were,” Caroline says.

“No, Mother, I was  _ hurt _ by a train. A toy train. On the stairs. I’m sorry, Arthur,” Bonnie says, fighting a laugh.

Eames points to Caroline. “You may no longer relay emergency information.”

“Is this Eames?” Bonnie asks, eyes lighting up.

“Oh, yes. Bonnie, this is Eames, Eames, this is my sister Bonnie, who was  _ not _ hit by a train.”

“Oh my gosh, you’re so handsome,” Bonnie gushes, reaching for Eames’ hand and pulling him forward. “Arthur, look how handsome he is! That mouth could suc—”

“Bonnie!” Caroline scolds.

“They gave her the good drugs,” Paulo explains, his eyes crinkling with good humour. “She’s already propositioned a nurse and two doctors.”

“But she’s going to be okay?” Arthur asks, needing to be sure.

“Broken ankle and a concussion,” Paulo explains. “She’ll be on crutches for your wedding.”

“She can sit or stand on one leg for the photos,” Caroline assures them.

Arthur stares at her. “I don’t care about the pictures, I’m just glad she’s okay!”

“I’m fine,” Bonnie tells him, slapping at his arm to get his attention. “I’ll let the kids decorate my cast with glitter and I’ll be ready to party!”

Arthur laughs, staring down at her, so happy she’s okay.

“Arthur,” Bonnie hisses, casting a glance at Eames. “Arthur. Arthur!”

He leans closer.

“Eames keeps staring at your ass. I think he’s into you!” 

Arthur winces at Bonnie’s unsuccessful whisper, but the others laugh, then Bonnie laughs.

“You’re going to have beautiful babies,” she croons, looking between them.

“Um,” Arthur says, and Eames clears his throat.

“Not ugly ones like mine,” she continues, her enthusiasm fading. 

“Your babies weren’t ugly,” Caroline protests.

Bonnie nods her head, tears springing to her eyes. “Yes, yes, they were. They looked like wrinkly potatoes! They looked like  _ balls _ !”

Bonnie starts sobbing and Arthur excuses himself and Eames, leaving his mother and Paulo to calm her down. They make it to the hallway before cracking up, all the built up tension and worry seeping out as he lets Eames hold him up.

“Wrinkly potatoes,” Eames repeats, gasping. “ _ Balls _ !” 

“The worst part,” Arthur tells him between heaving breaths. “It’s true, they were ugly, wrinkly, ballsack babies!”

Eames starts all over again, earning them a warning from a nurse and strict instructions to wait in the family room. That’s where they find Bob and Bonnie’s kids, Deacon and Marisol. Bob hugs them when he sees them, leaving Arthur stunned. 

“I’m so glad everyone’s okay,” Bob tells them, sitting back down to wring his hands. “We were so worried.”

“I know, but it’s okay now. Bonnie’s going to be fine,” Arthur assures him, sending Eames a puzzled look.

“All I could think was that Bonnie was hurt, and you two were going to get in an accident rushing over here.”

“But we didn’t,” Arthur tells him gently. “Eames was amazing. He got me in the car and got us here safe. If it weren’t for him, I would probably still be at home, trying to remember how to call a taxi.”

Eames gives him a soft smile and pats Bob on the back. “We’re all safe, Bob.”

Bob nods. “Right. Yes. Good.”

“How can we help?” Eames asks, crouching beside him.

“Um, take the kids? Paulo thought that would be best. Just for a night or two so he can get Bonnie settled in at home. We’d take them, but,”

“Don’t worry, Dad, it’s fine. Of course we’ll keep them. Right?” he asks, looking to Eames.

“As long as needed,” Eames agrees. “Darling, why don’t you take the kids to the car and I’ll walk your Dad back in?”

“Sure, okay. We’ll see you tomorrow, okay, Dad?” Arthur says, making sure his dad nods before letting Eames take him. It’s unnerving, seeing him like this. He wonders when his dad started to get old.

“Darling,” Bob chuckles as they reach the doors. “You call him Darling.”

“I do,” Eames says.

Bob smiles. “I’m glad.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's get domestic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is super soft. Super duper soft.

By the time they make it home with the kids, Eames has charmed his way into being the favourite uncle. Arthur orders pizza as they chase each other around the apartment, giggling with a joy that hopefully makes them forget their mother’s injury. They didn’t see Bonnie fall, but it was Deacon’s toy train that brought her down and the boy had been sullen and withdrawn at the hospital. Half an hour with Eames has washed all the dark thoughts away, something Arthur can admit he’s experienced himself. 

There’s just something about Eames that makes you want to be as carefree as he is. Or pretends to be, at least. He’s spent enough time with the man to see the cracks in his aloof demeanor, but he can’t deny that Eames’ positivity and cheekiness has pulled Arthur out of more than one foul mood.

After dinner, they put the kids to bed in the spare room, where Eames usually sleeps, which presents a dilemma.

“I guess I’m bunking with you,” Eames says, as soon as the kids are down.

Arthur smiles, heading for his bedroom. “I guess so.”

Surprise flashes over Eames’ face, but it’s gone in an instant and he makes up the distance between them, following Arthur closely. “Glad you’re so keen.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? We’re both consenting adults,” Arthur opens his closet and rummages through the random, useless stuff Dom had dropped off in a bout of guilt.

“Exactly,” Eames agrees, stripping off his shirt. Arthur pauses, getting a good look and weighing his options before turning back to the closet.

“How’s your stamina?” he asks, smiling coyly over his shoulder.

“Unbelievable,” Eames promises, stalking closer.

“Good,” Arthur says, tossing a deflated pool float at him. “You should have no trouble blowing this up.”

Eames gapes and Arthur cackles, sauntering into the bathroom to get ready for bed. 

The next morning, Arthur wakes to whispers and giggles, and is immediately suspicious. What he finds when he leaves the bedroom leaves him shocked, amused, and more than a little turned on. There’s a pile of discarded wrapping paper on the floor, egg dripping from the counter, and three very smug miscreants in the kitchen.

“Uncle Arthur!” Marisol shouts, throwing herself off the stool and nearly taking him to the floor with her enthusiasm. “We’re making waffles!”

“And bacon!” Deacon adds, mouth full of said bacon.

“I can see that,” he says, dusting flour out of Marisol’s hair. “I didn’t know we owned a waffle maker.”

“Uncle Eames let us each open a present!” she says.

“My wedding presents?” Arthur asks, raising an eyebrow.

Eames shrugs, bashful, and Arthur’s heart melts a little because he looks exhausted, but there’s a grin on his face, a smudge of batter in his stubble, and he looks like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

“Ask us what the second gift was, Darling,” Eames teases.

“What was the second gift, dear fiance of mine?” he asks, depositing Marisol back on the stool and leaning over to look into the bowl Eames is stirring.

“You want to tell him?” Eames asks Deacon.

“A coffee maker!” Deacon shrieks, making them both wince.

“The one from the registry?” Arthur asks eagerly, stepping around the island to get behind Eames.

“I would have made some already, but I think you need an engineering degree to operate it,” Eames says, crowding behind him, his hands resting on Arthur’s waist. “Does it make you happy?”

“So happy,” Arthur says, grinning at Eames over his shoulder. His eyes flick to Eames’ lips, so close and soft-looking, and not for the first time, Arthur wants.

“The light went off!” Marisol announces from the waggle iron, breaking the moment and stealing Eames away.

They spend the day catering to the kids (and Eames’) whims. They go to the park, eat ice cream for lunch, pet random dogs, and tease Arthur. To his surprise, Arthur finds that he and Eames have a lot more in common than he thought. Sure, they still argue about who does the dishes, the proper way to fold towels, and who would win in a fight, Strawberry Shortcake or Rainbow Bright, but the big stuff, their beliefs and values, coexist side by side. 

When Deacon gets upset about Bonnie’s accident, Eames sits him down and has him talk about his mom and all the ways Deacon knows to help her. He shares his own childhood experiences, and Arthur is just as enraptured as the kids while listening. He’s learning Eames, he realizes. And the more he learns, the more he likes.

At bedtime, the kids ask Eames to tuck them in and Arthur listens from the doorway while Eames makes up a story on the spot about a dragon and the children who love her. The kids fall asleep before the end, and Eames sneaks out, looking surprised that Arthur was listening.

“You should write it down,” he tells Eames as they shut off the lights and check the door. “Make it a book.”

Eames chuckles. “It’s just a silly story.”

“Some people like silly stories,” Arthur says, squeezing Eames’ wrist as he brushes past him into the bedroom. “Thank you, by the way. For being so great to the kids.”

Eames frowns. “You sound surprised.”

“Pleasantly so,” Arthur explains with a smile. “We didn’t exactly know a lot about each other when we started this. So far, I like what I’ve learned.”

“Yeah?” Eames asks, stepping closer. “What else do you like?”

“I like that you were cool with giving up your bed for the kids, to sleep on a pool float. You behaved like a responsible adult.”

Eames responds with false shock. “That is the worst thing anyone’s ever said about me!”

“I highly doubt that,” Arthur laughs before closing the bathroom door.

Twenty minutes later, Arthur is in bed, lights out, Eames’ steady breath lulling him into wondering if sharing the bed is such a bad idea after all. He saw a side of Eames he didn’t expect today. And he wants more. He wants the Eames who is warm and kind, and content to follow the lead of two wild ten-year-olds. Who makes special breakfasts and hands out hugs like they’re free. It’s new, this feeling that maybe their marriage doesn’t have to be a sham. That maybe they could build a life together. It’s not like Arthur doesn’t also want the Eames whose words cut and sarcasm stings. The Eames who gets his blood pumping in anger and excitement. The Eames who looks at Arthur like he could devour him every day of the week. 

Arthur curses himself because his dick has taken an interest in his thoughts of the man sleeping three feet away, and there’s no way for him to relieve himself without Eames figuring it out. Unless…

A loud pop, followed by a slow hiss, startles both of them.

“Um, Darling?” Eames calls into the dark. “My bed seems to be leaking air.”

Arthur can’t help it, he laughs. It gets worse when Eames lets out an insulted grunt and hauls himself off the floor, getting tangled in the now-floppy float. Eames falls sideways on the bed near Arthur’s feet, growling as Arthur covers his mouth, but can’t stop laughing.

“Cheeky bastard,” Eames accuses, and the depth of his voice goes straight to Arthur’s cock. Eames freezes, eyes locked on Arthur’s, and he must see the desire in them because he launches himself forward, pinning Arthur to the bed with his hips and his mouth.

The kiss is desperate and wet, both of them rushing to get the blanket and sheet out from between them. Eames’ hand slides across the skin of Arthur’s stomach and he keens, bucking into the touch. Eames rears back and shoves the covers out of the way, collapsing back on top of Arthur, where it’s clear they’re both on the same track.

Eames is hard and warm against him, and Arthur feels his need like an itch he’s desperate to scratch. He wants Eames on top and beneath him, inside and out. He wants to be covered in him.

Eames’ mouth latches onto his neck and Arthur’s hand finally worms its way under Eames’ pajama pants, and he’s a hair’s breadth from getting a hold of him when the bedroom door opens on a quiet sob.

“Uncle Arthur?” Marisol cries, and Arthur shoves Eames off him and onto the floor with a pained thud.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur asks, desire bleeding away in an instant.

“You don’t look so well, sweetheart,” Eames tells her, kneeling beside the bed. “Are you going to be sick?”

“Okay,” Marisol nods, then vomits all over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nine chapters and seven days to go!


	21. Chapter 21

Eames watches Arthur sleep for just a minute. He’s curled around Marisol in bed, Deacon on his other side, halfway down the mattress. The sight moves something in his heart, and Eames sighs quietly, fingers itching to sketch them. To keep the memory fresh in his mind. He didn’t expect this. Sure, he thought Arthur would give in and realize this entire scheme would be more fun if they hooked up, but he never dreamed he’d be the one to fall head over heels in love. 

He can’t deny it any longer, especially now that his mother can see it. That’s why he needs to go. Now. This morning. He can’t wait. He needs to do this for Arthur. And for himself.

He leaves a note on the coffeemaker, knowing Arthur will see it there, and then he lets himself out of the apartment. He takes a cab to the warehouse district, walking the last ten blocks to clear his head. To prepare himself.

His dad is waiting for him in the gravel parking lot of an old automobile parts manufacturer. He looks the same as he did twenty years ago, if a little softer around the edges. He’s still handsome, the grey in his hair making him look distinguished, and Eames wonders if he’ll age as well. If Arthur will enjoy finding grey at his temples as they grow older. Arthur. That’s why he’s here.

“I thought they raided this place,” Eames remarks, leaning against the chain-link fence. He knows he’s staring at the man and he hates himself for it.

His father smiles the same crooked smile Eames sees in the mirror, and he wonders how his mother could stand the similarity. “Gambling dens are like cockroaches,” he says, and there it is, that raspy voice that’s haunted Eames for most of his life. 

The scar is barely visible, but Eames knows where to look. He remembers tracing it with chubby fingers as a child, listening to his father tell him about the accident that almost took his life. Later, after he’d left them, Eames wished it had, and he’d never lived to make them miserable.

“I’ve quit,” Eames tells him, wincing when it sounds proud. “I’m going to break the cycle that ruined your life.”

“Gambling didn’t ruin my life, son, I did,” he says, surprising Eames.

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to be the kind of man who sells his kid’s bike to bet on a dogfight,” he says, terse.

His father sighs, eyes crinkling as he looks Eames over. “You know that payday I was chasing? The one I was always sure was just around the corner?”

Eames scoffs because of course he does. But for the first time, the truth of it hurts instead of excites him.

“I got it,” he continues with a shrug. “Won it in a poker tournament on a riverboat.”

“How picturesque,” Eames drawls.

“The problem was that as soon as I had the money, I didn’t feel any different. It was a hollow victory, and you know why?”

“Look, I didn’t come here to—” Eames starts, fidgeting.

“Because I’d already lost the two things that actually mattered to me. You and your mother were gone; I’d lost you,” he tells Eames, voice cracking.

“You didn’t lose us,” Eames spits, stepping away from the fence. “You left. Don’t ever forget that.”

“How could I?” his father asks, hands spread in front of him. “It was the biggest mistake of my life and it was no one’s fault but mine. But I want to make amends, son. I understand if you don’t want me in your life, but please let me help you.”

Eames shakes his head, feeling overwhelmed and wishing Arthur were here with him. “What strings come attached to that help, huh? Nothing’s ever free with you.”

“Not this time, I swear. I’ve never forgiven myself for leaving you, and I don’t expect you to either, but Junior, I’m so proud of you. You’ve built a life and found love, and that’s all a parent can hope for.”

“Don’t call me Junior,” Eames says, bristling. “And you know shit about parenting.”

A smile twitches at his father’s mouth. “Your mother told me you go by Eames these days. That’s good. God knows my name never did you any good.”

Eames nods in agreement.

“I hear your Arthur is special,” he says, searchingly, but Eames just shakes his head. He can’t talk to his father about Arthur. He won’t.

“I’ll take the money,” he says, looking away.

“Okay, I get it.” His father reaches into his jacket and pulls out a cheque. It’s much bigger than Eames expected. With this, they’ll be able to pay off Saito and Arthur’s parents right after the wedding. 

As soon as he’s stashed the cheque in his pocket, Eames walks away, feeling his father’s eyes on his back. He pauses at the corner, uncertain.

“The wedding is Saturday,” he calls, carefully avoiding his father’s eyes. “If it’s important to you, you’ll figure out the rest.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could tell you this was the last bit of angst before the end but I can't. Because feelings are hard and these boys are dumb.

Arthur’s standing on the sidewalk outside their building when Eames’ taxi drops him off. The kids are already in the backseat of Bob’s car, but they unbuckle and jump out when they see him, nearly knocking him over with their hugs.

“We thought you’d miss them,” Arthur says, smiling as Eames crouches in front of the kids.

“Never,” he declares, tugging gently on Marisol’s braid. “Just had something that needed doing.”

“Uncle Arthur says we can come back for a sleepover!” Deacon says too loudly into his ear.

“He did?” Eames asks, raising his eyebrows at Arthur because that would mean more bed-sharing.

Arthur flushes and rolls his eyes, bustling the kids back in the car.

“It’s good practice,” Bob adds with a wink before opening the driver’s door and getting in.

Eames laughs, and Arthur ignores him, turning his attention back to the kids. “Give your mom a very careful hug from me, okay?”

“And make sure you speak quietly around her,” Eames reminds them, leaning into the door over Arthur’s shoulder. “Her head is hurt, and she needs calm and quiet. You get too full of energy, you call us, and we’ll tickle it out of you.”

The kids giggle, and Bob starts the car.

“But most importantly,” Eames continues, holding onto Arthur’s waist for support. “Give her lots of love. Draw her pictures, write her a poem, or just hold her hand. Love helps you heal faster.”

The kids nod seriously, and then the door is closed, and Bob pulls away from the curb. Eames puts his hands in his pockets, ready to head back in, but Arthur’s staring at him like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.

“What?” he asks, defensive.

“Nothing,” Arthur says, but he doesn’t look away. There’s the ghost of a smile on his lips and heat in his gaze, and it’s all Eames can do not to squirm in place. Instead, he pulls out the cheque from his father and hands it to Arthur.

“Holy shit,” Arthur exclaims, then puts his hand on Eames’ arm. “How do you feel about this?”

Eames blows out his breath, a little winded by the concern Arthur’s showing. “Like I may have just sold my soul. And that we need to cash it before he empties the account.”

Arthur’s mouth thins. “How does it feel compared to borrowing from Saito?”

Eames thinks for a moment. “Better and worse. I don’t have to pay this back with interest, so that’s not hanging over my head. But, it’s not just me attached to this money. It’s you, too. And I don’t want you tangled in the strings this money comes with.”

“What strings are we talking about?” Arthur asks, looking back at the cheque.

“Don’t know yet. He says none, but time will tell.”

“I mean, if he needs a kidney or something, this would about cover it,” Arthur jokes lamely, a frown creasing his brow. “Do I really need both?”

Eames gives him a soft smile. “The second one’s purely decoration, I hear.”

Later that night they’re watching a home renovation show on tv because it’s the only thing they don’t argue through. Arthur’s sitting sideways on the couch, his feet tucked under Eames’ leg for warmth, toes wiggling subconsciously every time Arthur sees a design element he likes. Eames keeps spinning the ring on his finger. The one he got from his mother the night he stayed with her. The one that belonged to her father, and his father before him. The one he plans to give Arthur in a little under a week.

“S’quiet,” Eames remarks during a commercial.

Arthur looks away from the screen. “You have the remote, turn it up.” 

Eames chuckles, squeezing Arthur’s ankle. “I meant it’s quiet without the kids here.”

“Miss them already?” Arthur asks.

“A little,” Eames admits, turning back to the tv.

“Yeah, me too,” Arthur says a minute later. 

“Your dad seems keen on more grandkids,” Eames says absently while the hosts of the show argue about the house’s original trim. “How are we going to handle that?”

Arthur snorts. “Pretty sure science hasn’t figured that one out yet.”

Eames pauses, careful not to turn his head because he knows Arthur will take it as a challenge. “Ten years is a long time,” he finally comments. 

“It’s an entire decade,” Arthur says sarcastically.

“No, I mean, it’s a long time to make excuses about not having kids,” he clarifies.

“What are you talking about?” Arthur asks, and when Eames finally looks at him, Arthur’s frown is so pronounced he looks like he’s pouting.

“Our marriage,” he explains. “Ten years, yeah? Well, your parents know I want kids, so you think they’re just going to let it drop after the wedding?”

“How the hell do they know you want kids?” Arthur asks, toes digging into the underside of Eames’ thigh.

Eames shrugs. “They asked, I answered.”

Arthur groans. “Some warning would have been nice. My mother probably got us baby clothes for Christmas.”

“Well, if last night is any indication,” Eames ventures, finally looking at Arthur. “The next ten years will at least be fun. Kids or no.”

“Ten years was before you dad gave us the money,” Arthur reminds him quietly. “We don’t need to stay together that long now.”

Eames forces himself to keep Arthur’s gaze, challenging as it is. Every word between them feels loaded, and he’s never been good at measuring his emotions.

“But we could.”

“Why?” Arthur asks, pulling his feet out from under Eames.

Eames wants to stop him. Wants to grab him by the ankles and drag him closer. Not stopping until Arthur is in his lap, as soft and flush and willing as he was last night.

“It was one moment of weakness after a month of unbelievable stress. It’s not something to build a future around,” Arthur says when Eames doesn’t respond. He looks away and clenches his hands in his lap. “It’s a good thing we were interrupted.”

“Was it?” Eames demands, rubbing at the ache in his chest. 

Arthur sighs, his voice little more than a whisper. “It’s not real, Eames. It never was.”

“That’s how you feel,” Eames says, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice.

“That’s how it is. How it has to be,” Arthur tells him, getting up and heading for his room, leaving Eames to watch him go. “I’m sorry,” he whispers before going inside.

“Yeah,” Eames croaks. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the next chapter will make up for this one.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this super early in the day so y'all would have lots of time to yell at me in the comments.

Arthur can’t sleep. His traitorous brain keeps replaying his conversation with Eames, and each time he almost climbs out of bed to apologize. He could; Eames is still up. The tv is on and every thirty minutes Eames gets up to grab another beer. 

Arthur tells himself it’s too late, that Eames is probably too drunk to take him seriously. They’d just argue again, and he’d drive Eames even further away. At least this way, Eames is still going to marry him. Most likely.

The floor outside Arthur’s door creaks and he whips his head to the side. There’s no crack of light when the door opens, just the soft shuffle of Eames’ feet. Arthur thinks for a moment that Eames simply has the wrong room; is too drunk to tell the difference, but when Eames leans over him, there’s not a whiff of beer on his warm breath.

“Darling,” Eames whispers, and it sounds like a vow. That’s all it takes for Arthur to wrap his arms around Eames’ neck and pull him down. Their kiss is hot and perfect, and Eames’ mouth slots against his perfectly, sealing the kiss and stealing all the air from Arthur’s lungs. Eames pulls back to discard his shirt and Arthur can only see enough to grab at him, needing Eames where he belongs, with Arthur.

Arthur’s sparse chest hair tangles with Eames’ and it feels like home. They rub against each other in perfect cadence, the roll of Eames’ hips forcing his sweatpants lower with each brush. Arthur shoves at his own, needing more. More heat, more friction, more _Eames_.

Eames backs off again, taking Arthur’s flannel pants off in one smooth tug before kicking off his own, and then he’s back to pressing Arthur into the mattress, solid and perfect. Eames’ hand is behind him, but the kisses don’t stop as he stretches himself, and Arthur has no idea where the lube came from, but he loses all train of thought when Eames’ wet fist curls around him, jerking half a dozen times before he sits up and sinks down, engulfing Arthur’s cock in incredible heat. Arthur cries out, matching Eames’ moans in pitch, and his hands are everywhere, dragging against the sharpness of Eames’ hip and the curve of his ass. His stomach flexes under Arthur’s fingertips, going hollow when Arthur plucks at a nipple, and they’re just as soft and plump as Arthur dreamed.

He stills, stomach sinking and heart shattering into a million pieces as he stares up at Eames. It’s a dream. It has to be. Because Arthur can’t smell or taste him, and in no reality would Eames yield to him like this. 

Arthur can see his face then and he watches in awe as Eames grinds down onto his cock and stares at Arthur like he’s everything Eames needs in the world. He’s beautiful. Strong and sure, and so fucking perfect, and nothing Arthur is ever going to deserve. 

“Stop thinking,” Eames urges, his voice husky with desire. He takes Arthur’s hand and wraps it around his cock, groaning at the touch. He bows his back, working their hands quickly, and Arthur can’t do anything but watch as Eames uses him to chase his release.

Pre-come trails over their fingers, and Arthur squeezes, just to get a response. Eames doesn’t disappoint; he gasps and speeds up, rocking in Arthur’s lap and thrusting into their fists, head thrown back in ecstasy. He’s panting Arthur’s name and Arthur doesn’t care that it’s a dream because he _wants this_. Wants it so bad he can feel it in his bones, and if the only place he can have Eames is in his dreams, he won’t refuse.

Arthur grabs Eames by the back of the neck, pulling him forward and meeting him halfway for a wet kiss, licking into Eames’ mouth as he slams into him, using his grip on Eames to urge him on until Eames is writhing in Arthur’s lap and crying out, spilling with enough force to hit Arthur on the chin. 

Arthur fucks him through it, then heaves himself up, pressing Eames to the bed and rearranging his legs so his thighs press against Arthur’s chest, calves and feet dangling over Arthur’s shoulder as he shoves inside him again and again, murmuring dangerous words into Eames’ skin because Arthur knows they can’t hurt him here. 

Eames is so hot and tight Arthur can barely breathe. When he pulls out, the drag is unreal, like Eames’ is clinging to every inch, desperate to keep him inside. But Arthur needs to thrust, needs to bury his feelings in Eames, plant them deep. He needs to keep them hidden in _this_ Eames because he doesn’t know if they’re safe with the real one.

Eames holds him close, his lush mouth panting gorgeous little ‘Ah-ahs’ and dragging across Arthur’s cheek when he gets close enough. Eames sucks his own come from Arthur’s chin, licking at his jaw even after it’s gone, and he’s bent nearly in two, Arthur driving into him with wild abandon, and he’s the most beautiful creature Arthurs ever seen.

He comes on a sob of relief, spilling wet and strong into Eames, who pulls him closer, murmuring praise as Arthur’s body jerks and grinds.

“ _I love you, I love you, I love you._ ”

Arthur collapses to the side, stunned, and sticky, and completely alone.

“I love you,” he whispers into the darkness.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is super angsty, but it's the last one like that, I swear! If you're not into the angst, I suggest waiting a day and reading Chapters 24 and 25 together.
> 
> I've done some editing and this fic will now be 27 chapters so we're on track to finish on December 25th! Yay!

Eames and Arthur come to a silent agreement when Eames rolls out of bed around two in the afternoon. Arthur’s at the table, folding programs for the wedding when Eames stumbles out of his room, squinting into the afternoon light. Their eyes meet and Eames nods. Arthur nods back, eyes falling to the papers on the table, and then Eames disappears into the bathroom to shower.

Arthur shoves his dream of Eames as deep into his psyche as it will go and convinces himself it’s not worth the risk. That even if he made a move, Eames would only go along with it, with him, because Arthur is there. And accessible. And easy. It’s a fucking joke because nothing about any of it is easy and by the time Eames is out of the shower, Arthur’s feels like he’s frozen in time. He’s in love with a man who’s only with him to save his own ass, and Arthur can’t even cut ties and run because he cares too much about Eames getting hurt. Ten years, he thinks to himself. They’ll be lucky to make it through one.

From then on, they simply pretend their conversation didn’t happen. Arthur is fine with it. More than fine because it means Eames keeps a careful distance from him, constantly finding something that needs doing at least six feet away instead of being his usual handsy self. The others are careful not to mention the change in the last days before the big day. Wedding jitters. Cold feet. Nerves, anxiety, stress. It makes Arthur want to laugh every time he hears someone whispering about it because they have no fucking clue.

Eames puts the kibosh on any bachelor party ideas, claiming his sponsor doesn’t think it’s a good idea and that he agrees. The news that Eames has a sponsor is a surprise, but he hears Eames talking to her a few times after that and jealousy twists in his gut every time Eames’ phone rings or he gets a message from her. Not long ago, Eames would have shown him the ones that make him laugh, but not anymore. Despite their upcoming nuptials, they have no claim on each other.

There’s no more flirting, no joking, no lingering touches or heated glances, and by the day before the wedding, it’s like they’re nothing more than roommates. Which they basically are. And Arthur is fine with it. He is.

The first cracks in the walls he’s erected around himself appear at the rehearsal. He walks up the aisle with his parents, every step bringing him closer to Eames, who stands in front of a massive white marble fireplace. Reverend Jim is smiling at him, but Arthur feels sick to his stomach. 

Thankfully, it’s over soon and once his mother has triple checked everything with the Club’s event planner, they’re on their way to a private dining room overlooking the golf course for the rehearsal dinner. Arthur sits beside Eames, a careful twelve inches between them, and plasters on a smile. He picks at his food, abandoning it completely when Eames steals a piece of his roasted potatoes. He feels hollow, and he knows Eames is giving him strange looks, but Arthur can’t shake it off. 

His chest tightens when Bonnie calls for everyone’s attention. Caroline fusses about her standing in her cast, but Bonnie ignores her, giving Arthur a reassuring smile.

“Thank you all for being here with us tonight for the rehearsal and to celebrate the run-up to Arthur and Eames getting hitched,” she pauses while Paulo and Ariadne hoot and holler. “You know, we didn’t think Arthur would ever find someone to measure up to his standards,” she laughs and Arthur’s stomach rolls. “But then Eames walked in and reset the bar.”

Eames’ hand wraps around his on the table and Arthur clenches his teeth so hard his jaw cracks.

“It’s clear how much Eames adores you, big brother,” she continues and Arthur wants to sob. “The way he looks at you like you’re the only one in the world who matters; like he’s found the love of his life and there’s—”

“I have to go,” he blurts, the room spinning as he gets up and stumbles out of the room. He hears Eames say something about nerves, and then his footsteps follow. Arthur reaches the balcony, cursing at himself for not even being able to flee effectively, and squats against the rail. The wrought iron presses uncomfortably against his face, but the metal is blessedly cool and he almost feels like he can breathe again.

“Dar—Arthur, what’s wrong?” Eames asks, kneeling beside him, wide palms rubbing circles over his back.

Arthur pulls away, getting back to his feet and contemplating whether jumping to the green below would damage him permanently.

“Arthur,” Eames repeats, taking a step back when Arthur laughs.

“I  _ hate _ that,” he says, the laugh turning bitter.

“You hate your name?” Eames questions, clearly confused.

“Only when you say it,” Arthur spits, slamming his hand on the rail. It stings, but it grounds him. “I can’t do this.”

Eames steps closer until he’s right in front of Arthur. “Can’t do what, exactly?”

His voice is quiet, but urgent, and Arthur swallows against the memory of dream Eames sounding just like that while Arthur fucked him.

“I can’t deceive my family like this. You heard Bonnie in there, they all think we’re madly in love,” his voice cracks on the last word and he looks away.

“They’re supposed to. That’s what we wanted. That’s how this works,” Eames tells him, frustrated.

“But it doesn’t work,” Arthur argues, turning his back on Eames. “They’re all so invested in our relationship and I can’t lie to them anymore.” 

_ Can’t lie to myself anymore _ , his mind whispers.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this right now,” Eames tells him, forcing Arthur back to face him. “I could have left. I could have taken the money my father gave me, paid off my debts, and left you holding the bag.  _ But I didn’t _ .”

“Why not?” Arthur asks, flippant. Like it doesn’t matter why Eames is still there.

“You know why,” Eames says, voice raw, eyes pleading, and in a blinding moment of hope, Arthur almost gives in. But then he remembers that everything between them is built on a lie. What’s one more to men like them?

“You should take it,” Arthur tells him, hardening his resolve. “Take it and go. I’ll deal with all this drama and return everything. It’s not like it will surprise anyone that I fucked it up.”

“Stop it,” Eames barks, looking like he wants to shake Arthur. “You made a promise to me. A commitment.”

“It didn’t mean anything!” Arthur cries, knocking Eames’ hands off him. “None of it means  _ anything _ !”

Eames is silent, staring at Arthur like he’s the one whose heart is breaking. “You sure about that?”

Arthur nods, not trusting himself to speak.

“Then go in there and tell them it’s off. Tell them it was all a sham, and we didn’t mean a single minute of it. Tell them we did it for the money. For the fucking waffle iron and the Egyptian cotton sheets. Can you do that, Arthur?”

Arthur flinches when Eames says his name. There’s no affection, no warmth, just anger.

“What are you waiting for?” Eames asks, sweeping his arms toward the door to the dining room. “Go on.”

Arthur stares at the door. Everyone that matters to him is on the other side of those two inches of frosted glass. He thinks about the looks they’ll give him. The sadness, the pity. The total lack of surprise.

“I can’t,” he confesses in a broken whisper.

“I know,” Eames says, and he no longer sounds mad, just tired. “So we’re going to go back in there and tell them you’re overwhelmed with the day. Ari and Mal will drop you off at the apartment and I’ll go home with my mother, like we planned. Then tomorrow we’ll get married. Like. We. Planned.”

Arthur nods, glaring at the floor and hating himself.

“I don’t,” he stammers, the words like glass in this throat. “After the reception. I don’t think we should see each other again.”

“Marriage not as blissful as we thought it’d be,” Eames says with scorn and walks back inside.

By the time Arthur gets back to the apartment, he’s ready to shake apart at the seams. Everyone bought that he needed to leave. To go home and rest for the big day ahead of them. Eames made a show of asking for some privacy from the others to say their goodbyes before they separated for the night, and then he just walked away. Leaving Arthur alone in the room. Lost.

Arthur stops at the door to his room. There’s an envelope on his pillow, his name written across it in Eames’ flowing cursive. Arthur picks it up and pulls out the sheaf of paper inside, nearly dropping it in surprise.

It’s him. Or rather, a drawing of him. And it’s beautiful. Eames’ name is in the drawing's corner, right under the title ‘My Darling’, and though Arthur’s never seen himself look like he does in the drawing, he knows instantly that this is how Eames sees him. How Eames loves him.

“What did I do?” he asks the empty apartment, his heart shattering all over again. When he doesn’t get an answer, he sits on the bed, fingers cradling the drawing. Eames drew this for him as a gift. As a confession, he’s sure of it. But that was before Arthur tried to walk away. Before he threw Eames’ words back in his face and dared him to leave. 

His tears drip onto the paper and Arthur lets out a sob. This can’t be it. This can’t be how it ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go! The beginning of the end! Only two more chapters to go after this one!

“Did you sleep at all?” Mal asks Eames as she ties his tie for him. Her focus is on the silk in her hands, but when she gazes at him from under her eyelashes, he can see her worry.

“Not really,” he confesses. His mother made him wear cold tea bags over his eyes on the drive to the Club because he was so puffy from crying. He has no idea if Arthur’s even going to show, and every time his traitorous mind brings it up, he wants to break down all over again.

“You could have saved yourself a lot of grief with this, you know?” Mal tells him, pulling her knot apart and starting again.

Eames huff a broken laugh. “And what, just told him how I felt from the start?”

Mal’s hands still and her eyes jump to his. “I meant you could have bought a clip-on, but please, go on.”

Eames curses himself and runs a hand through his hair, earning a smack to the hand from Mal. She mutters about having one more thing to do, but she doesn’t let him off the hook.

“Last night was more than nerves,” she guesses, smoothing his hair down.

“Arthur and I,” he pauses, not knowing how to explain without giving up the ghost. “Our relationship is…”

“Mon Dieu, just spit it out!”

“I’m in love with him!” Eames shouts angrily.

Mal laughs. “And? You’re supposed to be, non?”

Eames sighs and falls onto the settee behind him. “He doesn’t feel the same.”

“You’re crazy,” Mal insists, waving off his concerns. “Arthur loves you very much.”

“How do you know?” Eames asks, trying not to sound too eager.

Mal shrugs. “Ariadne told me. But I can see it for myself,” she says, nodding decisively. “Arthur loves you.”

“Arthur tolerates me,” he groans.

“Are you trying to ruin this?” she asks, the snap of anger clear in her voice. “Is this the thing you do where you destroy things you care about because you’re stupide?”

“Self-sabotage,” he supplies, shaking his head. “And no, it’s not. I just know he deserves more.”

Mal’s slap stings, and Eames blinks up at her in shock.

“What the bloody hell was that for?”

“Crétin!” she spits, poking her finger into his chest. “Do not say these things about my friend! Arthur is fussy, and smart, and doesn’t sucker fools, and he loves  _ you  _ because you are loyal, and beautiful, and kind. How dare you say you don’t deserve that?”

Eames rubs at his chest where she poked him, his face flushed. “Suffer fools. Arthur doesn’t suffer fools.”

“I will beat you with my shoes,” she warns, poking him again. “You’re here, Eames. Half an hour from marrying the man you love. Why can’t you trust that he loves you, too?”

“He’s never said it,” Eames confesses.

“Have you?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s not that simple,” he tries to argue, but she cuts him off with a wave of her hand.

“It is. If you feel it, if you want it, you say it. You show it.”

“We’re half an hour from the wedding. How am I supposed to do that now?”

The look Mal gives him expresses how ridiculous she finds him. “You show up.”

“Knock, knock,” Bonnie calls, peeking her head into the room. “Oh, you’re dressed. Shame.”

“Is Arthur here?” Eames asks, jumping to his feet.

“Eager beaver, are we?” Bonnie teases, closing the door behind her. “Of course he’s here. Looks about as nervous as you do, actually.”

Bonnie hands him a sealed envelope and reaches for his tie, tugging him closer.

“What’s this?” he asks, eyeing it suspiciously.

“I think it’s a love note,” she tells him with a wink, hands busy before stepping back. “There, perfect.”

“Why couldn’t you do that?” he asks Mal, tearing open the envelope to find his vows written in Arthur’s neat hand, just like they’d discussed. Only Eames completely forgot what with their relationship blowing up.

“I prefer rope to ties,” Mal tells him and pours Bonnie a glass of complimentary champagne.

“Eames, is Bonnie in there?” Caroline calls from the other side of the door.

Bonnie rolls her eyes. “Busted.”

“Wait,” Eames says, grabbing a piece of the Club’s fancy stationery and a pen. Bonnie downs her glass as he scribbles Arthur’s vows and then she’s gone, sneaking out the adjoining door to avoid Caroline’s wrath.

“Ready?” Mal asks, holding out a full glass.

Eames nods, grabbing the bottle and downing the rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Mal as the voice of reason.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry HoHo, everyone! I hope today's chapter makes you smile and brings some joy to your day! Thank you so much for hanging in there through all the angst and for all the lovely comments and kudos! Tomorrow's chapter will be the end of this story, but the boys will go out with a bang!

Arthur is dutifully ignoring his mother’s fussing as he stares through the slip of space between the door’s window frame and the ruffle of the curtain. The guests are all seated, even Saito and his men. Draped chairs filled with people he hasn’t seen or spared a thought for in years; it seems like everyone he’s ever met is here, but Arthur only has eyes for Eames. Standing between Reverend Jim in his somber black ensemble and Mal’s burgundy jumpsuit, Eames is biting his lip and looking very much worth the risk Arthur’s about to take. 

His royal blue crushed velvet jacket is well tailored and emphasizes his broad shoulders and narrow waist, and the black pants he’s wearing look so incredible from the front, Arthur’s mouth waters thinking about how he looks from the back. But Eames looks nervous, too. He nods along at whatever Mal tells him, and waves discreetly to his mother in the front row, but Arthur can tell by the way he’s standing that he’s coiled tight as a spring.

“Arthur, honestly, someone will see you,” Caroline scolds for the third time.

“Just making sure he’s still here,” Arthur murmurs, turning away. His own nerves are shot, and if it weren’t for the knowledge that his parents will tackle him if he tries to run, he’d be halfway to Canada by now. 

“That man has nowhere else he’d rather be,” Bonnie says, hugging him gently, so she doesn’t wrinkle his suit. “He was so relieved when I told him you were here.”

“You two are so dramatic,” Caroline tells him, eyeing him critically. “I think we’re ready to go.”

“Already?” Arthur asks, sweating. “I think we have a few minutes.”

He needs more time. Time to settle himself, time to school his face into something that doesn’t look like naked desire and desperate hope. He decided after a fitful night of dreams where he alternately chased and ran from Eames, that he really had nothing left to lose by showing up. Either way, he agreed to marry Eames today. They’ll figure the rest out as they go. 

Arthur plans to confess his feelings the minute they’re alone and let Eames decide what their future holds. It’s a gamble, but so was concocting this whole charade, and he managed that. Terribly, but he’s choosing to ignore that part. If Eames doesn’t love him, they’ll go their separate ways and Arthur won’t have to live with what might have been. And if Eames does love him, as the drawing suggests… well, it’ll make one hell of a story to tell the grandkids.

If only he could tell from here if Eames’ nerves are from excitement or trepidation.

“You keep staring at him, so what’s the big deal about going out there to stand with him?” his father asks, pressing his face close to Arthur’s so they can both see into the hall.

“It’s a huge deal,” Arthur grumbles. “Massive.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Ari tells him, fondly.

“My foot hurts, let’s get this show on the road,” Bonnie proclaims, shoving Bob and Artur aside and opening the door to hobble to her seat. Caroline kisses the air near his cheek and takes Bob’s arm before following her. The guests settle, the room going quiet with anticipation, and Arthur feels like he can’t breathe.

“Calm down,” Ari whispers, taking his hand. She’s small and quiet, but steady as a rock at his side. “It’s just the rest of your life.”

It startles a laugh out of him and the next thing he knows, she’s walking him through the door and into the hall. 

They decided early on that the traditional walk down the aisle wasn’t for them, so Arthur enters from a side door, near to the low stage where Eames stands. Ari’s grip is tight and Arthur’s thankful for her guidance because he can’t look away from Eames. Eames, whose face is a conflicting mask of wonder and fear. Of apprehension and determination. Whatever he’s feelings, he’s as unable to look away from his groom as Arthur is. In that, at least, they’re united.

“We match,” Eames breathes once Arthur’s in front of him, staring at Arthur’s emerald velvet suit. 

“I guess we found  _ something _ to agree on in the end,” Arthur jokes weakly, shuffling his feet.

“In the end,” Eames echoes.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” Jim says with volume and a big smile. “We gather here to celebrate the joining of Arthur and Eames, and offer to them our unwavering support. Please join hands,” he adds, quieter.

Arthur takes a deep breath and reaches out for Eames, who looks down at their joined hands and presses closer until their shoulders brush.

“Before we begin, I would like to say a word or two about the relationship between the two men in front of me.”

Eames’ hand twitches in Arthur’s grip, but he doesn’t let go.

“I’ve married a lot of couples over the years, and I like to think I can spot the ones who are marrying for the wrong reasons,”

Arthur’s heart speeds up and Eames looks ready to run, so he holds on tighter. He’ll wrestle him to the floor if he has to, to get this done.

“Some couples fall in love with an idealized version of the other person, others feel like it’s just time they bite the bullet and get married. Some just want all the gifts.”

Arthur giggles, and Eames turns to him with wide, panicked eyes. Arthur squeezes his hand in reassurance, but he’s sweating madly. Still, if they’re going down, they’re going down together.

“Marriage is a journey, a wonderful, exciting, sometimes excruciating journey, and it’s easy to get caught up in the expectations,” Jim goes on, finally looking at Arthur and Eames. “But Arthur and Eames have something few other couples have: they see each other for who they truly are.”

Arthur’s sighs in relief, feeling Eames’ eyes on him.

“No rose-tinted glasses, no skeletons in the closet. They stand here, ready to commit to each other, knowing full well what they’re getting into. Who they’ve chosen as their partner. And I believe because of that, they will have a long and happy life of growing together.”

There’s sniffing that sounds suspiciously like Farrah once he’s finished, but Arthur can’t check if he’s right because this is the part where he and Eames face each other. Where they look the other in the eye and promise to share their life and love. He might throw up.

“Eames, do you have your vows?” Jim asks and Eames lets go of Arthur’s hand to fish the envelope out of his pocket. He curses, struggling to open it and tearing the sheet of paper inside. Arthur bites back a smile at Eames’ huff of annoyance.

“My dearest Arthur,” he starts, frowning at what’s written. His eyes scan back and forth, the frown getting deeper as he goes. “This is tripe,” he declares, ripping up the paper and tossing it to the side. 

Arthur’s heart sinks, but Eames takes both his hands, looking deep into his eyes, and the vulnerability Arthur sees there stills him.

“I’d rather speak from the heart if that’s okay with you, Darling,” he says, voice wavering.

Arthur nods, hoping his smile is encouraging and not terrified.

“You frustrate me like no one else ever has,” Eames starts and over his shoulder, Arthur sees Mal drop her head into her hands. “You’re opinionated, stubborn, incredibly bossy, and you always have to have the last word. But I’ve come to understand that the reason for all of that is because of how generous, kind, and decent you are. You’ll do anything in your power to see that the people you love are cared for and honoured, and if that means using your powers for evil, so be it.”

Their guests laugh, but Arthur’s heart is in his throat. Eames’ words are more than he ever expected to hear, and he’s quickly becoming overwhelmed. Verklempt, even.

“You’re gorgeous, and sexy, and you have a killer sense of humour,” Eames is smiling now, leaning forward as though he can make Arthur believe his words by sheer physical force. “Arthur Darling, I think you’re amazing and I will be proud to call you my husband.”

Arthur chokes out a startled laugh, mind going blank. Everyone is staring at him, and he remembers they’re expecting a reply. 

“The envelope,” Eames whispers, and Arthur fumbles it out of his pocket, wincing at the cut he gets when he pulls out the paper. Absently, he stuffs his finger in his mouth, tasting the coppery spark of blood while his mind tries to grasp what Eames has written.

_ Darling, I love you. Will you marry me for real? _

Arthur’s finger falls out of his mouth when his jaw drops. He looks at Eames, stunned and giddy when Eames presents him with the antique ring he told Arthur was his grandfather’s. 

“I love you, too” he blurts like it’s a threat. “I mean, I do. Love you, that is. I love you.”

Ari snorts behind him, and Arthur takes a deep breath, needing to do better. To make his vows worthy of Eames.

“I pride myself on being an excellent judge of character,” he plods on, letting his heart make it up as he goes. “And when I first met you, I thought I had you all figured out. And I did. Only I didn’t yet realize how much  _ more _ there was to know. I’m grateful to you for taking a chance on me. For talking me into taking a chance on  _ you _ , so that first glimpse wasn’t all I saw.”

Eames blushes and Arthur wants to kiss him stupid. But first, vows, and declarations, and then,  _ then _ , kissing.

“You’ve taught me something new every day we’ve spent together, and my favourite of those things is the thousand little ways I’ve learned to love you. From your appalling sense of direction to the way you light up when you see a dog, or a child, or Angela Landsbury on tv.”

Someone in the crowds lets out a whoop and the others laugh, but Arthur can’t look away from Eames. Not now, maybe never.

“You love effortlessly and completely, and you make me the best version of myself. I’m head over heels in love with you, Eames, and yes, I’ll marry you.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before Eames is kissing him. His embrace is tight and warm, and Arthur sobs into it, hating that they almost screwed this up. He holds Eames against him, deepening the kiss, pouring everything he can into it, praying Eames will understand the reasons for Arthur’s behaviour. He was scared. Goddamn terrified, and he still is, but for whole new reasons. Better reasons.

Reverend Jim clears his throat, but they ignore him, lost in the kiss that’s been waiting in the wings since the moment they met.

“Just work around them,” Ari advises.

“Um, okay. Eames? Do you take Arthur as your husband?” Jim asks over the catcalls and laughter in the hall.

Eames mutters his ascent, never taking his mouth from Arthur’s.

“Arthur, do you take Eames as your husband?”

Arthur gives him a thumbs up, smile so wide his face hurts and Eames has to kiss around it. 

“Then I pronounce you married,” he declares to the joy of their guests. “Let’s start the party!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you love it? I really hope you loved it!


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The Happy Ending!
> 
> Thank you all for reading along. I hope you all stay safe and healthy over the holidays! I'm dedicating 2021 to finishing all my WIPs, so if you've been waiting for updates on other fics of mine, now would be a good time to subscribe! Love to you all, my friends!
> 
> P.S. The rating has changed from M to E! You're welcome.

Arthur steps under the warm spray of the shower, once again patting himself on the back for installing the most luxurious shower head he could afford when he bought the condo. His muscles are sore and his head pounds lightly from last night’s champagne, but for the first time in his life, he’s living with no regrets. 

The door of the shower opens while he’s rinsing his hair and Eames’ chilled body slides up behind him, hands heavy and welcome on his waist.

“Didn’t think you’d be up before noon,” Arthur teases, letting Eames take his weight and his heat by leaning back.

“It’s twelve forty-six,” Eames grumbles, his nose cold against Arthur’s neck.

Arthur laughs. “Guess I was more exhausted than I thought.”

“Hmm,” Eames mumbles, pressing a kiss under his ear. “You worked very hard last night. You deserved a proper rest.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Arthur bites his lip when Eames growls, teeth clamping down on his skin. He threads his fingers with Eames’, their rings clinking together as he tugs Eames’ arm further around his waist so he can press back and tease Eames awake with his ass.

“I love these,” Eames tells him, bringing their left hands up to admire their rings. The silver and onyx signet ring Eames gave him fits like it was made for Arthur, and he gets a thrill every time he catches sight of it. Having it next to the tungsten ring they snuck out to buy before the reception started makes them look like a matched set. And yes, maybe Arthur forgot to buy Eames a ring, but he was having an emotional crisis, okay? Besides, as an apology Arthur blew Eames while they waited for it to be sized. Unsurprisingly, Eames forgave him. 

“What are you thinking about?” Eames asks, his cock now hard enough to press between Arthur’s cheeks with interest.

“You,” he confesses. “Me. Last night.”

Eames makes a pleased noise and grinds against Arthur. “What a coincidence; that’s exactly what I was thinking about.”

“Oh yeah? Which part?” he asks, his own cock already thick and almost reaching where their hands rest on his stomach. “When you rode me until I screamed or when I ate you out until you couldn’t remember your name?”

Eames chuckles, breath quick and warm on Arthur’s cheek. He kisses him there, then nuzzles the spot with his nose. “Those were quite memorable, but what I can’t get out of my head is when you held me down and fucked me so perfectly. You looked at me like it was the first time, and the last. Like the only thing that mattered to you was being inside me. Being  _ with _ me.” 

“It is the only thing that matters,” Arthur pants, bracing his arm on the wall so Eames can rut against him. “I just want to make you feel good.”

“Then let me return the favour,” Eames whispers, angling his hips downward so the head of his cock rubs over Arthur’s hole.

“Yes,” Arthur begs, nodding. Right now he wants nothing more than Eames exactly where he is. “Please.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Eames says, kissing his cheek again. Arthur whimpers when he pulls away, but he’s back in seconds and then a slick finger presses into him, gentle, but firm.

“Did you bring lube into the shower?” Arthur asks with a laugh that turns to a groan when Eames twists his wrist.

Eames huffs and adds another finger. “Are you complaining?”

“Would you like me to?” Arthur teases, earning him a sharp slap to the ass.

“Maybe a little,” Eames confesses, nibbling at the shell of Arthur’s ear. And Arthur tries, he really does, but then Eames presses between his shoulders, flattening his chest against the tile, and Arthur gasps from the chill and the slide of Eames’ fingers over his prostate. From then on, all Arthur can do is moan, back bowed and legs spread.

When Eames enters him, it’s in one long push, his hands gripping Arthur’s wet skin hard enough to bruise, his cock filling him perfectly while Arthur scrambles for purchase along the wall. Eames gives him a moment to adjust, then pulls out slowly, easing back in until they’re flush.

“I want you all the time,” Eames whispers, rolling his hips. “Since the moment I first saw you, I wanted you. And you looked so bloody smug when you told me off; I knew I had to have you.”

Arthur keens, reaching back for Eames’ hip and pulling him closer, deeper. Urging him on. 

“And your mind, gods, Arthur, you mind. You’re the sexiest man I’ve ever seen and you’re brilliant to boot.”

He tries to push back, to make Eames speed up, but Eames has him pinned; unable to do anything but take the thrusts as they come.

“But you know what the best thing is, Darling? What drives me completely mental and makes me want to take you apart slowly like this?” Eames swirls his hips and fits a hand between the wall and Arthur’s cock.

Arthur’s teeth clack together at the touch, his entire body going hot and tight, making Eames swear under his breath.

“You want me,” Eames continues once he’s matched the rhythm of his hand to that of his thrusts. “ _ You _ want  _ me _ . You love me, and that’s more than I’ve ever dared to ask for.”

“You,” Arthur gasps, going up on his toes to fuck into Eames’ fist because his orgasm is coming on fast and strong. “Eames, you.”

“Yes, Darling? What is it? Tell me,” Eames coaxes.

“You,” Arthur groans, heat coiling in his belly. “Talk too much.”

A laugh punches out of Eames and the delight Arthur feels at the sound is enough to push him over the edge, arching against Eames while he shakes apart, coating the tile and Eames’ hand with come.

Eames stills inside him, waiting for Arthur’s breath to even out while he trails kisses up and down his neck. When Arthur sinks back into his embrace and turns his head, Eames’ mouth is waiting, kissing him deeply as he renews his efforts. 

Arthur tugs at Eames’ hands, dragging them up to his shoulders so Eames can hold on. He widens his stance and bends at the waist as much as he can, giving Eames more to work into. Eames hums his approval. He doesn’t speed up, but he’s able to go deeper, making Arthur cry out, on the verge of over-stimulation. But he can take it. Arthur knows his body, and he’s getting to know Eames’, and if he can hold on, the raw edge will turn to pleasure and he’ll be open and wanton when Eames comes inside him.

“Darling,” Eames cries, his voice nasally and desperate. “I’m close. So close.”

“Come on, Eames,” Arthur coos, moving in tandem with him. “Show me how much you love me.”

And then he’s once again pressed to the wall, Eames a solid wall of skin and muscle behind him, cock buried so deep he’s pressing Arthur up onto his toes, unable to do anything but shout his approval.

“Fuck, fuck,” Eames chants as he comes, filling Arthur, keeping him suspended and helpless for what feels like forever, before letting him down and raining kisses everywhere he can reach.

“That was amazing,” Arthur pants, already hard again.

Eames grunts and bites his shoulder blade playfully. 

“No, I mean it,” Arthur says, turning around so they’re chest to chest, the water sluicing across their overheated bodies. “You’re like, really good at sex.”

Eames snorts and kisses him, slow and careless.

“So, first time fucking me,” Arthur probes. “What did you think?”

Eames laughs, his whole face splitting into a grin, and Arthur is helpless against his charm, needing to kiss him immediately. When they finally break apart, their skin is wrinkly and Arthur’s lips are numb, but he still wants to know.

“So?” he repeats.

Eames makes a show of thinking about it, then smiles. “10/10, would shag again.”

“You’re an ass,” Arthur tells him, wrapping his arms around his husband.

“That’s why you love me,” Eames reminds him, smoothing back Arthur’s hair.

“God help us, I do. I really, really do.”

“Forever?” Eames prompts, and Arthur grins.

“And ever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering why the hot water didn't run out while they were in the shower, it's because Arthur is a smart boy and had an on-demand water heater installed when he got his fancy shower head. ;-)


End file.
